


Machinations

by Ebyru



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Amnesia, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, Slash, Telepathy, Temporary Character Death, maze runner crossover, super strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maze Runner AU involving a lot more complications than just a camp full of mostly men. </p><p>Steve is a bisexual ex-army soldier with an incredible ability for leadership; Tony is a bisexual scientist who prefers wires to blood and veins (with the exception of Natasha and Bruce); Bucky is demi-sexual because of PTSD and traumas from the military, and only remembers Steve from his past life. The rest can do things they can't explain, but choose to only use it against threats. The Maze is a monstrosity for all of them, though they have each other to make it tolerable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my wonderful beta & artist -- vassalady.  
> (also to Shelly for the extra art to encourage me to keep writing!)
> 
> **Written for Polyamory Big Bang 2014.  
> there's not much in the way of sexual scenes, but the love is absolutely there if you pay attention to body language, etc. :) It's a subtle polyamory story. Fear of death gets in the way, ahem.

The tree that Natasha holds in place for Bruce is a light brown with dark green leaves. She’d offered to help after going through patches of mushrooms, distinguishing the edible from the poisonous ones. She’s the best at it in the Glade.

After every strike of his machete, the tree trembles a bit, leaning off-kilter. They need to have it chopped down by nightfall; there’s going to be a bonfire and feast for the new arrival of the month. Hopefully, the Box will contain another woman. There’s only one left in their glade now. Though Natasha is a strong, fiery-haired warrior with a mask harder than diamond, she must miss the company of another woman.

Bruce chops again, nearly knocking Natasha back with the force of his swing. “Sorry. You want to stop for a bit?”

Natasha sighs, rubbing sweat away with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she grits. Her hold tightens on the trunk.

The sharpness of her tone keeps Bruce from pushing. He nods, and continues with another strike. She has a better grip on the tree this time, a distant look in her eyes.

She asks, “Can you believe it’s been two years for me already?”

The tree shudders, and starts to crack on Bruce’s next swing. They both step away to let it fall, but it doesn’t. It leans precariously to one side, attached with nothing but a couple of roots.

Bruce shakes his head. “Time sure flies when you’re stuck outside of a deadly maze.” It’s not been easy for him to accept that this is his life now – even if he doesn’t remember what it was before.

It doesn’t merit the laugh Natasha gives it; maybe it’s to keep from weeping in despair like some Shakespearean tragedy. They all passed that phase after the three-month mark. “It’s been almost three years for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” says Bruce, trailing off. He hears footsteps coming from further in the forest. Natasha twists in the same direction, her shoulders tensing. There have been incidents with boars and mosquitoes attacking them in the woods. Unfortunately, they don’t have anything with them right now that could go against those nuisances; it doesn’t usually happen in the daytime anyway. Often, those attacks are due to Grievers – giant, agile spiders – having scared them out of the maze.

A tall, dark man with a patch over his right eye pushes through the branches in a black coat. Natasha ducks her head politely, her stance already looser. Bruce drops his machete into the ground, clapping dirt off his palms.

“What’s up?” she asks, heading towards their stoical leader.

“It’s time,” he says simply. “Follow me. We have to make them feel welcome.”

Bruce goes with them, looking back at the tree that _still_ refuses to fall completely over.


	2. Unwanted Vacation

It’s darker than his eyes can accept; there’s not even a fraction of light strong enough to help him see where he is – what’s moving him up. A burst of light, neon, brightens up the area as he zooms by it: he’s in a box, cage-like edges, with tins and containers around him. Some chickens cluck and a pig snuffles with the arrival of some light, reacting the way he is – all of them holding their breath for the next flash of it. They’ve all come to life in this cage they share. As they go higher, the lights come more often and he can see fear reflected in their eyes.

They’re moving up an elevator shaft, but this box isn’t half as safe as the ones businessmen and women ride on their way to their office floor. He can see the top of the shaft approaching fast, and the cage isn’t slowing down; it’s speeding up. The panic cuts through him, makes him curl in on himself, folding in close to the other animals who can’t escape this trap either. Maybe the containers that smell like dirt and water can somehow slow the impact.

A sudden lurch and the box finally stops; he knocks his head against the metal grates, a gash flattening his blonde hair with blood. His fingers come away sticky, but there’s not much pain to speak of. The top of the shaft opens to let in a sheet of bright sunlight. There, eyes of different shades - faces of multiple shapes, skin tones and various ages - peer in at him in excitement.

He almost prefers the thought of crashing with the shaft to facing all these nameless gazes. Not that it would help his situation. Maybe one of them knows why this happened, where they are, who he is. His name at least. A word that feels like it was plucked out of his memory and replaced with fragments.

Belatedly, he notices he’s being dragged out by a few men – a couple carefully dabbing at the gash at the side of his head. Nothing comes away this time; it’s coagulated already. There’s a woman standing next to a tall, black man, both of them with arms akimbo and steely glances.

They watch him as he’s set down on a soft, warm patch of grass. Not coming closer to him, but not far enough away to be afraid of him either. It hits him: they’ve been through this before, perhaps themselves even. This must be normal for them, their faces presenting the very definition of calm.

The men who dragged him stand around now: all sizes – taller, strong, shorter than him, dark hair, light. No one looks quite like the other. They can’t be related, then. Two of the men with brown hair, small in stature, whisper while looking at him. They’re further off than the rest, near a hut that looks primitive and wobbly at best. He’s so transfixed by their dark, brown eyes and the way they smirk when he swallows that the clang of the box going back down the shaft startles him. He wishes he could climb in and go home, return where he was taken from. Instead, he’s gawked at like some feral animal being held captive. It’s certainly reminiscent of how he’s feeling right about now.

There’s a quick movement behind him; a slender, young man with brown hair picks up a container that must be at least twice his weight. For a moment, he considers helping the young man, but suddenly everyone’s focus is drawn away.

So preoccupied with his new ‘neighbours,’ he didn’t bother to take in his surroundings fully. The grassy area only stretches so far. All around him, a stone wall – at least fifty metres high – keeps them from going beyond. A small opening leads into the greenery where he is seated uncomfortably, his long limbs a tangle beneath him. His legs tremble as he gets up to see why there’s such a commotion, and the slim man from earlier helps him stand with one hand pressing to his back.

“Easy there, buddy. We were all a bit like newborn calves when we got out.” The man laughs, his hands holding him up with ease. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

He nods, his throat tingling with the urge to say his own name, except that he can’t quite find where it’s hidden. It’s not returning to him. It’s – it’s _gone_.

Peter smiles ruefully. “Don’t worry. You’ll remember some things in a day or two.” Peter touches his shoulder. “You should come meet the Runners. They’re always a decent distraction.”

The “Runners” turn out to be two fairly-built men, one black and one white, both with a silent intensity behind their smiling faces. The black man is the first to clap him on the shoulder with a grin. “Finally, some fresh meat. I bet Pete’s glad not to be the new guy anymore.” He chuckles along with the other Runner who has a handmade bow strapped to his back.

“I am, actually,” says Peter, crossing his arms at them. He raises a brow, challenging him to say something else.

The other Runner approaches him, sizing him up for a moment. “Did they send us a football player this time?” He laughs, turning to catch the black man’s gaze. As he faces back, his expression softens considerably. “I’m Clint. That handsome devil back there is Sam.” Sam waves as Clint outstretches a hand.

“I – I don’t remember my name.” He steps back instead of taking Clint’s hand. He can’t seem to behave like himself when there are chunks of his mind missing. He’s not in the mood to meet people who still know who they are.

Clint shrugs with a soft, “It’ll be back before you know it.” He winks as he heads over to the entrance of the giant stone wall, helping Sam drag over what looks like metal beams – with entrails hanging from them. _Please let them not be human guts._

He knows dismissal when he sees it; they don’t want him to know what’s going on with that creature yet. He’s not sure he can handle it now anyway.

The woman holds him by the elbow while the tall man walks ahead in even, straight strides. His gait is stiff and intimidating. They go into another primitive hut, Peter waving as the door shuts in front of him.

The woman sits him down, pouring a glass of water for them. “Do you know your name?

He’s surprised by the rasp to her voice. He expected a soft lilt to go with her large eyes and full lips. It’s a pleasant contrast that keeps him from irritation at being asked the same question over and over. He smiles at her, looking up to the patch-eyed man. “No, do you?” He genuinely wants to know if they somehow recognize him.

She’s grinning with just her eyes, shaking her head. “Mine is Natasha, that’s Nick,” she says. “But I can’t know your name since this is the first time we’ve met.”

He swallows, glancing around the hut. Dread starts to speed up his heart, his breathing. He remembers he’s trapped in this place, walls all around them. No one else seems bothered by it. The hut distracts him – wood falling through the roof, sticks on the ground, everything made of trees, and nothing even remotely advanced technology. “Where’s the electricity? The lights? The heating?”

Natasha leans back in her wooden chair. “Noticed, did you? In the Glade, we’re forced to live a rustic life. Sorry you won’t be able to watch YouTube videos of kittens.”

Nick grumbles behind her, his hand on her shoulder. He squeezes lightly. “Sorry,” she whispers to him.

“Fortunately, we have moderate temperatures in the Glade. The most we get is some wind and some rain. Nothing that could require more than the bare minimum,” explains Nick. He walks toward him, hand on his shoulder in a reassuring touch. “If you ever need to talk, you can come see me. Peter and Natasha can teach you the basics of our camp in the meantime.” He attempts a smile. It doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “Tonight we’ll have a feast in honour of you.”

Too bad he doesn’t want any of this.


	3. The Glade

Sam and Clint returned with a piece of Griever; Natasha didn’t think it was the right time to tell the newbie. Not by a long shot. There’s being honest, and then there’s being insensitive. She tries never to be the latter. She was a greenie once – she knows how difficult it can be. Although no one can remember quite anything from before, there are enough glimpses of memories that they know this isn’t where they’re from. No one’s meant to live surrounded entirely by a maze. Not to mention the lack of technology and other people. To tell the newbie about Grievers – giant, murderous hunters inside the maze – would be cruel. In the past, before people like Clint and Bruce came along, she might have. Somehow, that makes her feel worse.

“—Tasha?” calls Clint, stepping into the hut where she and Nick go over the parts of each new capture. “You must really be inside your head. I’ve been calling you for a minute.”

She shrugs. “Sorry. What is it?”

Clint unstraps his bow, taking a round object from inside the bag. He places it on the wood table next to a screwdriver and a hammer – both made by Tony and whatever supplies they could find in the woods. Sometimes there are tools lying around waiting for them, which frustrates Natasha to no end. The people who put them there know what’s going on, could do something about it, but aren’t. They’re just toying with them.

“I found this device inside the Griever. We managed to get it out without damaging it too much.” He leans next to her, talking lower. “I think you can work it out on your own, but I can get Tony if you want.”

Natasha pulls her hair back, wrapping a strip of fabric around it to keep it in place. “No, I can handle this.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, squeezing her shoulder fondly. “I’ll be outside if you need any help.”

 

\---

 

It’s light out when she begins opening the device. By the time she gets it open with their rudimentary tools, it’s darker than suppertime. They often eat while the sun is only just setting, in case anything happens with the maze after sundown. For years, nothing has happened, but that doesn’t mean nothing _could_ happen. She’s a realist, pragmatic too. She won’t get comfortable within a cage when someone clearly put her here for a reason. Never will she let her guard down while she’s in here.

Clint knocks on the door while she’s trying to pull a wire from within the device, and she tugs too hard. It beeps in a steady rhythm, climbing in pitch until she has to smash it against the wood of the table to make it stop. He pushes inside, breathing hard.

He touches her arm. “Are you okay? I heard a loud – oh.” He looks down at the device now in pieces. “Please tell me you got something out of it before you smashed it like an apex predator.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling in spite of her irritation. “I got enough.” She crosses her arms. “Do you want to be the first to know or should I call the rest in here?”

“Let me know first so I can judge. Wait, _first_? You didn’t tell Nick?” he asks, his eyes widening.

“Not yet. He’s preparing the bonfire and you happen to be here at the right moment.” She chuckles softly, touching his chin. “Besides, we both know how bad you are at keeping secrets.”

He raises a brow, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s a secret now?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug that belies the importance of what she’s hiding. “You be the judge: they’re programmed to hunt us. This one belongs to a specific area of the maze. I’m guessing that means there’s one or so per section.”

“Okay, that helps a bit.” He crosses his arms, rubbing his forearm. “Anything else?”

“If you can catch one that’s mostly intact, I think Tony, Bruce and I can program it to defend us from within the maze.”

“Whoa, Nat. Seriously?” He rubs the creases in his forehead, turning his back to her. He paces a few seconds. When he looks over his shoulder, his expression is determined. “How sure are you about that?”

“99 per cent, Clint. 100 per cent if Peter gets involved, too. And I know you and Sam can do it.” She hands him the device. “If I learned all that from this piece that fits in your palm, just imagine.”

“Yeah, I get it. Okay. I’ll definitely tell Sam and the others—”

“Later,” she interjects, stepping closer to him. She wraps her fingers around his nape, stroking gently. “Right?”

“Yeah, of course. We need to make sure the newbie’s settled in first. He needs time to cope with the surroundings.

She nods, pressing her head to his shoulder. “We could finally be free of this place.”

“I know, Nat. I know.” He kisses the top of her head and eases her back, smiling a bit. “You should get ready for the feast.”


	4. What's in a Name?

Peter is a nice kid – _kid_ because he’s tall and gangly. He has the shape of a teenager, or maybe someone who’s just come out of puberty. He’s young to be here, the youngest of everyone so far that he’s encountered. Unless a baby is hiding out somewhere.

Thing is, Peter doesn’t see himself as a kid. To him – and probably everyone else in this camp – _he_ is the kid. It’s not about age in this environment: it’s about how long they’ve been stuck between the four walls for. It’s experience over age. A society of its own.

He gets that. He’s new, so he’s the ‘youngest.’ In reality, he feels like he knows this place already; he senses the way it breathes in and out like a living creature. There’s a way out, and he will find it for them. To save everyone. No one deserves to be stuck here more than a year.

Thankfully, the Glade is alight with a bonfire and barbecued pork, corn and wild mushrooms. Peter follows him wherever he goes, offering food off his plate. Peter tells him, “I’m just too excited to eat. Finally, I’m going to get some respect around here.”

What does that mean for him now that he’s taking Peter’s place?

As they take a seat, a ways off from the bonfire, right on top of giant tree roots, Peter takes out a few containers from a knapsack and hands one to him. Without a word, he takes the glass jar that’s offered to him. “What is it?” he asks.

Peter smiles, gnawing on his cob of corn. “Taste it,” he says, “I bet you’ll figure it out real quick.”

The jar smells moldy, like a basement that’s been waterlogged. He doubts Peter would try to kill him when he’ll be taking his place – whatever it is – at the Glade. He sips slowly. The smell is rancid to his nose, then it burns his throat. The liquid splashes against his tongue like lava. It’s been so long since he’s had alcohol…but _how_ does he know that?

With a snort, Peter steals the glass jar back. “Not too bad, huh?” He takes large gulps, washing it down with a pork rib that seems seasoned with something sticky and dark. He won’t ask Peter why they have sauce like that when they don’t even have proper homes or clothes.

“Thanks,” he tells Peter.

Peter nods, sitting in companionable silence with him. Once in a while, he hands over the jar of clear alcohol. Sometimes he takes it; sometimes he refuses. Peter sips double when he tells him he doesn’t want anymore. Not much time passes before Peter is slurring, his head leaning over. When Peter nearly falls in his lap, he lifts Peter bridal-style and carries him over to the hut Natasha brought him to earlier.

Everyone else is so busy they barely notice him moving away from the festivities. Peter groans and shifts in his arms, burying his face in his chest. He makes to fluff his muscles and whines when it doesn’t get any softer. “Are you made of cement?”

“Not the last time I checked,” he chortles, the sound surprising himself.

Finally at the hut, he makes to knock but hears voices inside murmuring. Natasha and Nick – among others – are discussing what happened earlier in the day. The thing they won’t tell him about. This might be his only chance for some answers.

He leans in, careful not to wake up Peter while he presses his ear to the small opening of the wooden door.

_“We always thought they were instinctual,” says Sam._

_“Yes, but we were wrong,” chimes in Nick. “It’s time to reassess our goals. Natasha, what you’re suggesting may require more than two Runners.”_

_“I believe so, yes,” she says._

_“Who else could we bring in? It’s hard enough trying to pick mushrooms and farm without being swarmed by bees and mosquitoes,” says Clint._

_Natasha clears her throat. “Maybe the new guy? He seems like he’s fit enough for the job. Has lean legs. I think he could do it.”_

_“Possibly,” says Nick. “But we need to give him time to get used to the Glade first.”_

_“You mean you don’t want him to go all psycho like Rumlow.” says Clint._

_Nick sighs. “Yes, but also it’s easy to trigger PTSD when you’re in a strange place with people you don’t know. Especially ones who don’t know boundaries.”_

_Clint sucks his teeth. “I was just trying to be friendly…”_

_“I’ll make sure Peter keeps an eye on his progress. When he seems ready, we’ll let you know,” says Natasha.”_

_“Okay, thank you. Meeting adjourned. Now go out and eat before it’s all gone.”_

He only has enough time to scoop Peter up, breathing out like he’s just been carrying him from across the Glade when they swing the door open. Clint is the first one out, his hands in his pockets.

“What’s up, Greenie?”

“My name’s not Greenie,” says Steve, an eruption of feeling sparking behind his eyelids. He shoves Peter at Clint, holding his head. Something hurts at the back of his skull, crackling. It feels like fireworks inside his brain; hot, hot, heat short-circuiting what he was going to say next. A lie of course, but still.

Nick touches his shoulder, gentle but firm. “It’s coming back, isn’t it? Don’t fight it. It’s going to hurt but it’s worth it.”

Natasha’s standing behind Nick, a pained expression on her face that probably matches his. “It’ll be all right, newbie.”

“My name’s not newbie!” he shouts, the pain in his head a throbbing that hasn’t stopped. He nearly collapses when Sam rushes over and grabs his shoulder. Clint has to jump in for the other arm, both of them dragging him inside the hut.

Peter comes out of his drunken haze enough to grumble out, “Then, what _is_ your name?”

The alphabet presses like computer keys at the back of his mind, leaping and jabbing at letters. They flash like cards, memory patterns twisting and crossing in front of his eyes. He’s digging his fingers into either one of Clint and Sam’s arms, gritting his teeth against the pain. One after the other, letters fall, switch places, and dissipate. He’s left with only five. Five in the right order. Five that roll off his tongue like a practiced sonnet. Five that spell out his name. _His_ name.

 

S T E V E

 

Steve loosens his hold, glancing around at the curious faces. At least this was a big enough distraction to keep them from asking if he was eavesdropping. Natasha has Peter’s arm around her shoulders, nodding for him to go on. Nick’s arms are crossed. Clint and Sam are too close for Steve to make out their expressions.

“My name is Steve,” he mutters out at last. “I remember it now.”

Everyone cheers, startling Peter with a jolt. He claps with his eyes half-lidded. “Good one, man,” Peter slurs, then promptly passes out again. Natasha guides him over to her bed, and the rest of them walk Steve out of the hut, shouting and clapping.

Nick announces in a pleased tone, “Our newest arrival is called Steve.”

The people gathered around the bonfire whistle and howl. Some of them even chant his name like he’s just completed the winning pass for a championship game. It’s overwhelming. So many faces approach him, drunk and slurring, others sober but just as loud. They clap him on the back, smile, offer food and more of that alcohol Peter had. Steve drinks as much as he can, and then some more, but their voices never dim. The sound of his mind reeling never quiets down. He doesn’t even feel tipsy.

The alcohol doesn’t do anything to his senses, not at all.


	5. Conflict

It’s a couple of days until the excitement dies down. At his arrival, Steve didn’t really pay attention to the amount of people at the Glade. He sees now there are at least a dozen. There might have been more; others that ran away due to anxiety or fear. People like ‘Rumlow’ that he overheard about the other night. It seems only people with strong will survive, or strength period.

Thor is one of those people. It’s no surprise he’s named after the God of Thunder when he’s built like he comes from another dimension. He’s boisterous and strong, very kind and friendly, too. He greets Steve every morning, a hatchet in hand to help Bruce out with wood collecting for each meal and to keep them warm when the sun sets in the evening. He and Loki are inseparable. They act like brothers: teasing and bickering often throughout the day. The difference between them, though, is that Loki doesn’t seem to like Steve.

Steve accompanies Natasha deep into the forest, learning about mushrooms that are safe to eat. Loki crosses their path, returning to camp with a basket over his shoulder. He not only picks the edible ones, but the poisonous ones in hopes that it can wreck the wiring of the Grievers with a big enough quantity. He didn’t tell Steve that, though; he told Natasha. He didn’t even look over at him. Steve doesn’t understand why he’s ignoring him.

 

\---

 

In the evening, Thor joins Steve on a rotting log to eat supper together. It’s a stew that Happy made from whatever the Box sent up for them. It’s decent considering. Much tastier than anything Steve could make on his own.

“How do you find the Glade?” asks Thor, his mouth full. His legs are crossed at the ankle in front of him, his pants too short to reach past the middle of his calves.

Steve shrugs. “Not bad, I guess.” He scoops up some stew to fill his mouth with. Easier to avoid questions if you’re chewing.

“I see,” says Thor. He sounds disappointed, his brows creased. “And the people? Have the others been treating you kindly?”

Steve can’t say: ‘yes, except Loki. Maybe you should ask him why he hates me.’ Though, he’d very much like to. He shrugs again, glancing around at the blur of faces cast in shadows around the fire. Everyone has someone they sit and eat with, someone they talk to most. Loki is alone, across the camp, glaring in his direction. Steve looks down, spooning more stew into his mouth.

Thor follows his gaze all the way to Loki. He groans. “My apologies, Steven. Loki, he is…quite possessive of me.” He rests his bowl in his lap. “I was the one who introduced him to our environment. The same way Peter and Natasha have helped you.”

Steve nods, keeping his head down. It’s not his place to judge Loki for how he’s treating him. He doesn’t know what he’s been through before, but he understands the feeling of ‘replacement.’ “I’m sure he’ll like me when he realizes that I’m not trying to take his place.”

“Indeed,” says Thor, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are a kind man. He should strive to befriend you, not make more enemies. He has enough of those.”

It’s true that he hasn’t seen Loki really speak to anyone else since he arrived, save for Natasha. And Nick. But everyone speaks to Nick; he’s the elder. The first to have been in the Glade. He spent a month alone, and survived. It’s hard not to respect him for that.

Steve empties the last of his bowl, and Thor chuckles heartily. “Your appetite matches mine. Most of the others cannot finish even one serving of Happy’s cuisine. I will fetch us more!”

Before Steve can protest, lie about being full, Thor is leaping up with their bowls and into the hut. From a small window, Steve can see how excited Happy is. He gives him a thumbs up. Steve would return it if Loki wasn’t shooting daggers with his eyes. Suddenly, he’s not hungry anymore.

 

*

 

A week has passed. Steve has enough stamina to finish his log cutting chores, as well as pick two baskets of non-poisonous mushrooms, exercise for two hours and practice using the basic weapons Tony and Bruce crafted from previous Griever parts. With all of that, he still wants more. He still feels useless. He wants to get them out, or at least find information they haven’t gotten before.

He wants to be a Runner.

Natasha pats him on the back when he hits every target without missing once. She tells him, “You could hunt those wild boar that show up once in a while.”

He smiles because she does, but the sentiment is shallow. “Think so?”

“Yeah. Maybe even graduate to Runner.” She takes his sack of metal pieces from him. “You must be tired. Go take a nap. I’ll wake you for supper when it’s ready.”

Steve shakes his head, reaching for the bag. “I’m not tired. I can keep—”

“Steve. Just go rest. You deserve it.” She cradles his fingers in her own, watching him intently.

He swallows, nodding. “All right. Where should I go?”

Natasha points through the dense trees. “Once you get out, in the main hut underneath my bed is a hammock. Try to hang it up somewhere quiet. I know it’s not always easy.”

 

\---

 

She might have noticed he isn’t sleeping through the night; he isn’t less capable of functioning from it, though. If anything, he feels more refreshed after a good run than with eight hours of rest. His body doesn’t seem to be like most of the others. He isn’t tired now, even after spending most of the day training and doing chores. But maybe it’s something about the Glade, the maze right next door. He wonders constantly if a Griever might slip through instead of the Runners. He worries, but he doesn’t even tell Thor or Peter.

Maybe a nap would do him some good after all. The hammock is where she said, and he hangs it up on the opposite side of the Glade where most of the poisonous mushrooms grow. He’s yawning before he even gets in it; he stretches out, his arms pillowed behind his head. It’s surprisingly comfortable. As soon as his eyes close, he’s out like a light. Instantly dreaming.

Voices clutter his mind, layering everything. He tries to push through the faces, blurred and uneven, but it’s only like blowing dust from dishes; they remain unclean. Dirty. Smudged. One of the faces appears more often than the others, but it’s hard to see. Steve can’t make out anything but blue eyes, long hair and an easy smile. It’s a man, he thinks, that or a masculine woman. The man is friendly with him, protective. They hug and argue like Thor and Loki.

The man knows his name, calls him _Stevie_. _Steven_ when he doesn’t listen. _Punk_ when they’re teasing. They smile and train together; even rushing through gunfire with their heads down doesn’t keep them from bantering. An explosion goes off near the man and he disappears in the smoke. Steve can’t see him. He loses track of him. Next, he loses his footing, his calm, his surroundings…

Then he can’t see anything, and he’s awake, clutching the sides of the hammock. His chest heaves for giant gulps of air. A hand touches his forehead - cold, delicate fingers sliding away when Steve startles and grabs the wrist. He blinks up at the person, still half-asleep. “Loki?”

Loki seems put-upon, pursing his lips. “I heard your screaming from inside the forest.” He steps back, taking his wrist with him. “I misread the situation.” He turns to leave, rubbing his wrist. The other arm holding his two usual baskets of mushrooms.

As he’s a few steps away, Steve finally controls his breathing, his mind clearing up. “Thank you,” he tells him.

Loki stops to bow his head, but doesn’t turn to face him. He keeps walking afterward.

 

\---

 

Another two weeks of blissful ignorance is enough to drive anyone crazy. Steve doesn’t like sitting and waiting for others to come up with plans. There’s nothing more aggravating than leaving a group of people’s fate up to a select few’s decisions. In the world, outside of the Glade and this monstrous maze, it’s difficult to have everyone involved. But in here, with only over a dozen people, there’s really no reason to push suggestions away.

Steve knows he can help. Apparently, he has to be in a certain rank to achieve that though. He’s back to wanting to be a Runner; it’s the only way they’ll listen. No one else is treated as if their ideas matter besides them and Nick, but he’s the elder. He was first. Natasha used to be a Runner herself, so was Thor. That’s why their opinions still count sometimes. Clint and Sam took over because they were more nimble, lean and quicker. Natasha is agile but she’s not quite as fast as them.

Instead of taking a nap like Natasha sends him to do again, he goes to find Nick. He knows he’s often in the main hut, looking over Griever findings, keeping watch of the maze’s large door. He watches everything to make sure even a tiny shift doesn’t happen without him noticing.

Steve knocks on the door as he opens it. “Sorry if I’m disturbing.”

Nick shakes his head. “No, perfect timing. Clint and Sam just came back home.” He turns to face Steve, his arms behind his back. “What can I help you with?”

“I want to be a Runner,” he blurts out. If he doesn’t force it, he’ll lose his nerve. Nick has a way of making him feel inadequate, like he sees right through him. “I know I’d have to prove myself, and I am willing—”

“Stop,” he cuts in. Nick circles around Steve, his arms still folded behind him. “Hmm.” He faces him, leaning forward. “I don’t see a problem if you have Natasha and Thor teach you the ropes.”

“I – what? _Really_?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, Steve, but most people don’t volunteer to risk their life daily.” He smirks, tapping his shoulder. “If you’re willing to, I know you’re serious about it.” He walks over to the window where Clint and Sam are dragging a Griever that whirrs with the last of its power source. “Besides, they might need a new perspective out there. Might move things along quicker.”

Steve breathes out, smiles. “Okay. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Nick just nods and ushers him out.

 

\---

 

As Steve jogs over to the spot where he’s consistently been taking naps, Loki appears in front of him. His jaw is tight, his eyes hard and piercing. The green has never been more apparent than now, with him staring Steve down and not talking. His fists are balled at his sides.

Steve says, “Hi? Did you want to tell me something?”

Loki’s frown turns into a scowl. His mouth curling up vicious like an animal about to snarl. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and smiles. A smile that shows nothing but ire. “No, not at all. Congratulations on becoming a Runner. I hope you survive longer than Rumlow had.”

He storms off, leaving Steve bewildered and speechless. He can’t separate up from down, has no idea how Loki already found out or why he’s so mad either. It keeps him from napping as planned. Instead, and maybe this isn’t the best idea, he follows Loki. There are only 15 people in camp. They can’t have friction like this between them. It doesn’t sit well with Steve anyway.

Steve calls for him. “Loki? Loki, please tell me what I did wrong—” He can hear him shouting from further away, so he follows his voice. He finds Loki confronting Nick inside the main hut, his finger jabbed in the leader’s face.

“You told me I was your next pick for Runner if we needed an additional one. You promised that the spot would be mine!” he shouts, fury clear from the tightness of his shoulders.

Nick raises his arms, placating. His voice stays level. “I know, Loki. I meant it when I said it, but things have changed. You are the best we have at making poison to short-circuit the Grievers. I need you doing that.”

“He’s the newest member! You could have at least chosen Peter. Or Jarvis. You know he’s the most intelligent among us, and you’ve chosen the one with the least knowledge of this environment.” Loki scoffs, moving closer to Nick. “I knew you had favourites. I knew you just told me what I wanted to hear because of how everyone else views me. I may have a temper, be a loner, but I’m loyal and efficient. I could do it perfectly.”

Nick risks touching Loki’s shoulder, speaking softly, “Yes, of course. You are an asset for our group. That’s exactly why I can’t send you into the maze. What if you’re killed out there? No one can replace you. Whereas, like you said, if Steve is killed we have people who can replace him.”

Loki huffs, smacking Nick’s hand off his shoulder. “We’ll see what happens, I suppose. Don’t expect me to risk my life when he fails.” He strides out, ignoring Nick as he tries to call him back. When he spots Steve standing outside the hut, he stalks towards him.

“And you,” he spits, his body hunching for an attack.

Steve’s first reflex is to block; he raises his arms, stopping the flurry of hits that land on his arms. They should hurt, he thinks. They should at least make him want to fight back, but he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to. Loki swings and connects, his fists sometimes missing in his anger. He growls when Steve starts to say, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would have waited.”

“No! You don’t get to apologize!” he growls out, ramming into Steve. He barely moves him an inch back.

Something about his body’s used to this kind of experience. He’s not afraid, just guilty that Loki was finally coming around and now he hates him again. Like he can’t stand anyone else. He nearly lowers his arms so Loki can get his frustration out properly, let him connect with bone and skin that isn’t tough like his arms. But Thor pushes in between them, grabbing Loki and swinging him around. His back facing Steve.

“Loki, you cannot behave this way. We are all each other has,” he says both hands on his shoulders. “Do you not understand what will happen if we do the work for the Grievers?"

Loki grits out, “It changes nothing if we can never leave! I don’t want to be here anymore, Thor. Do _you_ not understand? There is nothing here for me. Nothing except finding a solution. And he stole that chance from me!” His shoulders begin shaking, and Thor pulls him close, holding him. He cries loudly and unabashed. A broken man with his spirit broken.

Thor gestures for Steve to leave, walking back to the forest with Loki where they can be alone. He watches them disappear among the trees, his body frozen. Loki has been here too long. Almost as long as Nick, Bruce and Tony. Steve doesn’t want anyone else to feel the utter dread that he’s experiencing. They need to leave. He’s going to find a way.


	6. The Maze

The maze opens up early morning. Tony’s workbench is right near it in the middle of the Glade. Steve asked once, and he said he needed direct sunlight since lamps and torches weren’t bright enough. Steve also wonders where he got a workbench in the first place.

“Thor chopped down the tree, cut it into manageable pieces, and I did the rest. What can I say? I’m good at what I do. Also, I’ve got Jarvis to help me 24/7.” He punctuates that with a wink that makes Steve want to step back. He fights the urge. Jarvis’ face is placid, his golden hair shining in the sunlight.

Steve clears his throat. “So if I get pieces of a Griever—”

“Bring them right to me, buddy. I’ll know what to do.” He grins, knocking against a metal leg when it tries to whirr back to life. “Maybe Bruce will come help too.”

“And Peter?” asks Steve because he likes him. He’s still the sweetest kid in the camp, though Happy is a close second. Now that he has more time with Clint and Sam - not to mention Thor and Natasha - he can make a few more friends.

“Peter does his own thing,” says Tony, sliding on homemade glasses that focus in as he turns a dial on the side. “Like finding ways to sneak up on Natasha, which, let me tell you, I’ve _tried_. It is hard.” Tony digs underneath his workbench, pulling out pieces of metal. “Just stick to bringing me cool stuff, and we’re good.”

There’s a long scepter-like shape underneath the bench, metal again. Probably Griever parts. “Why not just make your own weapons with what we have available? They must be just as good, right? You’ve certainly got the talent for it.”

Tony laughs, looking at Steve over the rim of his glasses. “Oh, they are. Especially when Peter stops sneaking around and gets involved. But I think fighting fire with fire is a better idea. Whoever put us here obviously has more advanced technology than they’re sharing. So not only is it more efficient, but it’s like sticking it to them for ditching us here.”

If not for the smirk on Tony’s face, Steve would be afraid. He’s dead serious, and someone set on revenge is not someone to take lightly. Not to mention that they have nothing else to do here except plan their escape (and revenge).

“Hmm,” says Steve, finding no other words. He swallows, preparing an excuse to end this conversation when Clint bounces in front of them, shoving Steve aside.

His bow is at the ready, held out in front of Tony’s face. “Got me covered, Tony?”

Tony laughs, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. “You know I do. Natasha rode my ass so hard last time I disappointed you. And not in the good way.” He hands him two thick metal arrows. Clearly more Griever parts – maybe even from the one he and Sam brought when Steve first arrived. “Use them wisely, Legolas. And don’t forget to tell me all the details so the next batch can be better.”

Clint puts them in the only empty slots, the rest made of wood with sharp metal tips, a dash of green coating them. Steve is mesmerized by the colour, almost reaches to touch one until Clint tuts at him. “Not a good idea, dude. Loki’s a pro at collecting mushrooms for a reason.”

That name, it’s almost like a jab now. Every time Steve sees or tries to speak to Loki, he gets shunned. Thor is kind enough to shrug or pat him. But he, too, has distanced himself since Loki is feeling more antisocial than usual. Thor wants to be with Loki to prove that he’s important; that someone would care if he ran off into the maze.

“So I’ve heard,” says Steve under his breath.

“You guys talking ‘bout me? I know I’m handsome and all, but come on,” teases Sam. He slaps them both when they give him raised eyebrows. “Ready for a practice run? Promise not to lead you too far in case you get asthma.”

“Ha-ha,” says Steve. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, but seriously.” Sam leans in. “If you need another day, that’s cool. I can ask Natasha to go over some tips with you until then.”

Steve wonders where his nerves have gone. He should feel anxious, afraid. Something other than confident that it’ll turn out fine. He has no clue what’s in there, save for what they’ve been telling him the last few days. His hands shake at least. That’s something. He takes a deep breath, lets his veins fill with oxygen he’ll need in a second, and says, “I’m ready.” And he is.

Clint whistles. “You look fierce, gotta say. Those Griever assholes won’t know what’s coming.”

Sam pulls on black goggles, his back armed with four Griever legs, positioned almost like wings. He jogs ahead of them, Clint a few paces behind. “All right, boys. Time to shine.”

Steve follows closely behind, armed with a couple knives Natasha had leftover. It’s only until Tony can make a weapon that will suit him – maybe when they get back before the opening closes. If they make it in time.

 

\---

 

The first run is in section three. It’s one of the closest to the maze entrance, but also the only one open today – probably explains why Sam wanted to start today. Steve makes sure to stay only one foot behind them, knives shoved into his trousers with a belt Thor made him. He apparently has no qualms with skinning animals.

Steve feels his heart speed up as the sun reflects against the tall stonewalls. Each of them are covered in vines and leaves. Some are cracking in places or seem to have secret compartments, possibly ideal places for Grievers to hide out. Sam looks back at Steve as he glances up, the blue sky not as visible as it is from the Glade. Too many walls hovering overhead.

“You all right back there?” asks Sam. He jogs in place, letting Clint pass him slightly.

“Yeah,” breathes Steve. He looks forward, trying to put on a reassuring smile. “No Grievers in the daytime, right?”

“Exactly!” calls Clint, running backwards so he can face them as he talks. “Besides, we’re almost done going through this section. We might even be able to go into five if Sam agrees.”

“Only if Steve’s okay with it,” he says.

They’ve been running for maybe fifteen minutes; usually, Clint and Sam are gone for four or five hours minimum. It would be a shame to not continue. There must be something in here to find or take notice of. It’s his first day, but he doesn’t want to drag them down. He wants to learn and improve, be of use.

“Let’s keep going,” he says with a firm nod.

Clint salutes from the front, turning to face the front as they head through section five.

 

\---

 

They’re only gone for two hours. One hour through the sections, one hour to run back to the entrance. There’s more than enough time to sweep through once or twice more. But Steve feels like he needs time to take it in. The maze isn’t what he expected. It could almost be a comforting space, if it weren’t for the growls and creaks of Grievers hiding from the daylight.

The first sound he heard, he nearly cut his palm open reaching at his waist for a knife. Clint stopped him, pushing it back slowly. He told him, “They don’t come out in direct sunlight. In the shade maybe. But we still got a lot of time until more shady patches show up.”

“I know, you said, but –”

“It’s scary, we get it.” Sam touched his shoulder. “I was jumpy my first run too. You get used to the noises. You learn to ignore them.”

Then the smell hits Steve’s nostrils. Something like boiling fish and rotting flesh. An odour so fowl that he has to cover his nose with his shirt to get through the rest of section five. Clint mentioned that a few of the original Runners weren’t careful; they’d go out too close to sundown. They had been stuck inside the maze and never made it out. Steve knows they’re trying to be gentle with him, tell him without being too explicit. He’d rather they just come out and say it’s the smell of corpses. How many is another story.

Tony is still at the workbench, his thick glasses on as he cuts through metal. Natasha has her hip against the side of it, while Bruce chats with her about something serious. There’s a crease between her brows that she doesn’t have when she speaks with Steve. Probably because she withholds a lot from him to keep him at ease. He’s not fragile; he wants the truth. Reality is going to hit him whether he avoids it or not.

Clint is the only one who found Griever remnants. A piece of skull and some wiring that got cooked in the sun. It’s from a few days ago, so there’s no chance of it springing to life like the part that Tony was working on. He hands them over to Tony, tipping his head as he goes on his way. Sam kept close to Steve, making sure he could handle the eerie feel in the maze. He didn’t find anything of worth. Except a watch from one of the previous Runners, one he doesn’t remember the name of.

“Here you go, Tony.” He throws it, and Tony catches with ease.

“Nice. I could use these parts to make something more complex.”

“Knew you’d find them handy.”

Tony winks Sam’s way and gets to opening the watch up immediately.

Natasha whispers something to Bruce, her eyes darting briefly over to Steve. They both smile at him. “How did it go? Not too bad, right?” says Bruce.

“It was fine,” agrees Steve. “I’m just…I need to be alone for a bit.”

Surprisingly, Bruce shuffles over, a worried look on his face. His dark, greying hair usually covers his expressions, but Steve is tall enough that he has to look up at him. Steve can read it perfectly. “Was it too soon? We sent you too quickly. I knew it was a bad idea. I’m sorry—”

He’s reaching to touch Steve, something he hasn’t done in the past. Something he doesn’t do with many people. But Steve doesn’t want to be taken care of: he asked for this, and he doesn’t regret it. He just needs to breathe. Just breathe. It’s not been an easy three weeks. Settling in was already difficult, but now there’s an actual threat. One he hadn’t completely believed. It’s always worse when you’re confronted with it directly.

Steve steps back, grabbing Bruce’s hand as it starts to fall in disappointment. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just need time to myself.”

Bruce swallows, his lips parting. He sighs. “Yeah, sure. Natasha and I can come get you when supper’s ready.”

“Thanks,” says Steve.

He moves quickly, long strides that get him away from worrying, sensitive eyes, and closer to a judgement-free forest. The trees don’t blame themselves for the panic he’s feeling. They don’t expect him to go mad and run into the maze at night. The mushrooms are indiscriminate about who they kill with their poisons, who they cause to hallucinate. There’s no rank within these trees. No leader, no elders, no Runners, no collectors or farmers. He won’t make them dislike him by trying to help. They just live and breathe. Live and breathe.

Steve crouches down, his knees folded in on himself. He rocks like that for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. He loses count when the flashes of a man smiling, calling him Stevie show up again. It could be a dream. A memory. Someone from the life he doesn’t know anymore. Someone who is free of this maze. He starts to hum an old song about bluebirds when he hears a crack of a branch behind him.

The knives are in his hands, both ready to slice through anything. Loki looks back at him, swallowing when he sees what Steve’s holding. “Well, I can’t say I predicted you’d murder me for my earlier outburst.”

“Sorry,” mutters Steve, trying to laugh. It sounds unsteady. He shoves the weapons back in his pants, pushing his hands in his pockets. Just to show there’s no homicidal tendencies lurking. Though there might be – just not for Loki. “I’m just a bit…”

“It’s all right.” Loki stands up straighter, his eyes darting to every point except at Steve’s face. “I just came to apologize for my childish behaviour. It wasn’t your decision. If I should be mad at anyone it should be Nick since he knew how much being a Runner meant to me.”

Steve wants to nod fervently but knows that might be taken the wrong way. He settles for a subtle twitch up of his lips. “It’s okay. If I had known—”

“I know.” There are two baskets in Loki’s hands. He’s already done collecting for the day. He came just to find Steve. With Steve’s staring, he hides his arms behind his back. “Anyway, I have work to do. I’ll be off.”

“Are we…okay now?” Steve ventures closer, leaving his hands in his pockets. Safely hidden and away from sharp objects.

“I suppose we are,” says Loki with a sigh. “Which doesn’t mean we’ll ever become best friends, mind you. I’m not overly fond of those. You’ve just proven that you have the reflexes needed to be a Runner.”

Steve startles himself with a chuckle. He covers his mouth, not sure if it was meant to be a joke or not. Loki is so easily offended, too.

Loki almost smiles back, his eyes going softer. He’s opening his mouth to add something at the same moment that Peter shouts, “Steve! Steve, where are you? Don’t leave me hanging!” The green of his eyes turns jade. He snaps his mouth shut and rushes away.

Peter pushes through branches and leaves, coming from the opposite direction. “Steve!” he pants, folded in half. “I’ve been looking all over for you. How was your first day?” He’s beaming, his forehead covered in sweat from running.

It’s not his fault he struck a nerve, one Steve was just overcoming. Even if he’s higher in hierarchy, he’s still a younger guy. A man standing in the middle of a forest, doing nothing, hiding from the only dozen people he has for company means something. But Peter didn’t get it. He may never understand unless he goes into the maze himself and feels the ominous mood of it.

“Just fine, pal. Not much happened.” Steve pats his back as he passes him. “I’ll let you know when something exciting does.”

Peter stutters out, “You better tell me! I’m higher ranking.”

Steve waves an arm in acknowledgment.

 

 

*

 

The days are harder. He does his chores - because he has time to - before they go on runs. Sam is cautious of how far they lead Steve, protecting him like he’s fragile. He isn’t. He may have been a long time ago, once upon a time when it was only him and that man in his dreams – running and stumbling through explosions and gunfire. But he isn’t now. He’s just getting used to it all. Still.

On his third run, to section six which also happens to be the furthest, Steve spots a human skull. It’s crushed, cracked, picked clean of whatever it was before. Stripped of humanity and identity. It’s too old to be from their group, Clint says, “I think we’re probably a second or third experiment with the maze.” Steve hadn’t considered that dozens of people had been erased and thrown together like this before them. Sam is quiet, his head bowed in a show of respect. Clint follows suit. Steve nearly does the same until he hears a roar from a few paces away.

There’s a large wall, turned in slants like blades, and it’s blocking part of the view. Clint stands at attention, his hands so fast Steve didn’t even see him draw his bow, aiming. Sam unhinges the two Griever blades from his back, focused only on the point that’s moving toward them. Steve swallows. This is it. Tony made him a longer weapon, also from Griever pieces. He hasn’t needed to use it yet. He was hoping he’d never need to. They’ve been lucky enough to find scraps from previous fights in other sections. This time it’s cloudy; it’s so shady that the Griever is running out, charging at full speed to stop them from finding an escape. To keep them trapped, to make sure every last one of them is broken and bloody.

Steve can’t handle it. Everyone in camp plays up their mood for the newest arrival’s sake, trying to make it peaceful and happy. It isn’t. The maze is a nightmare; it’s meant to be destroyed. This Griever is going to come back with them. He’s going to get it to Tony, and they’re going to be away from this place permanently when he finds a way to get them out.

The Griever is a spider. A massive spider with the sharpest claws, enough eyes to put a real arachnid to shame, and agility beyond anything Steve could imagine. It seems to disappear as it approaches, leaping and climbing up walls, coming at them. Clint shoots it in the leg, it buzzes with green that makes it stumble. Sam rushes forward, stabbing and slicing into it, chunks of metal flying. Half of its body left and it can still fight. Steve hasn’t moved, but he does when Sam is stabbed in the calf by a stray leg still running with current. He cuts into circuits, synthetic blood oozing out of its body as he rips the rest out with his hands. He’s covered in red gunk, intestines made to fool the Runners into fearing this creature. He crushes and punches, snarling with his eyes closed, tearing and pulling at everything he can grab onto.

Then nothing, silence. Two pairs of eyes staring at him. Both of them panting. Sam touches Steve’s shoulder, his hand shaking. There’s a bruise blooming on his jaw.

“What – when did – I did that?” Steve asks, pointing to the bruise. He knows he felt resistance, assumed it was the Griever. It was probably both of them. He glances at Clint; he looks fine, putting his arrow back into the slot.

“You got…kind of carried away. You okay, man?” Sam rubs his jaw, watching intently as Steve cringes in sympathy. “I’ll be fine.”

Clint moves Steve’s hands away, the ones still pushed deep inside the Griever’s belly. “Let’s get this back to Tony. It’s – uh – mostly in one piece. Also, thanks for saving me the arrows.”

Sam nods, taking in a breath. “We need to run back faster,” he tells Steve. “Can you do it?”

The sticky fluid on his hands is drying. He…likes how it feels. He proved to the Griever, to himself, to the Runners, that he can do this. He doesn’t need to be watched like a fragile bird. He’s a man. He’s a warrior. He’s able to rip monsters apart with his bare hands. He was made to go into this maze and find a way out. He smiles. “You think you can keep up?”

Steve lifts the entire Griever corpse, heaves it over his shoulder and rushes off. It barely slows him down; he’s used to lifting logs all morning. If he can get there first, he can hide in the forest well enough that even Peter won’t find him. He needs to rinse his hands in the stream; he’s not sure he’s ready to tell Peter what happened. It might change the way he sees him.

 

\---

 

Steve arrives with minutes to spare, looking through the opening and praying Sam and Clint make it too. They all get through without the doors closing them inside. It was the only Griever attack for the day; they got lucky. There were enough shaded areas that at least 3 or four could have been hiding. Three or four could have been torn into with his hands.

The people in camp don’t ask Steve why he comes through first, on his own, carrying a Griever like a knapsack. Tony coughs and murmurs something under his breath to Natasha; she sighs, nudging Bruce with her elbow. Steve drops the corpse on Tony’s workbench and walks away. Thor and Loki are approaching, but he can’t look at them.

Steve’s hands are shaking, but his heart is calm. The stress, the pressure of needing to fight and defend himself, has passed. Now he’s stuck with the guilt, the violence he displayed. Sam was hurt – because of his fists, his anger.

That wasn’t like him. That was someone else. That was viciousness like he’s never done. He’s known it, seen it in others, remembers fists pummeling him in alleys and crunching into his cheek, threatening to crack bones. A face always takes over in those memories, the one of the man. The one from his dreams. He saved Steve, helped him in those alleys. He knows what’s _home_. He knows Steve wouldn’t hurt anyone like he did. Never as carelessly.

Steve blinks and he’s sitting in a small area of water inside the forest. It’s dark beyond the leaves. The sun’s down, been that way for a while. He feels cold. His clothes are soaked through. He can’t remember what he was doing, where he was going, what he was thinking of. His knuckles hurt, burn as he rinses them in the water. They’re all red and swollen, some of his nails chipped.

Someone stands behind him. He doesn’t turn around to see who because he speaks. Nick says, “You did good, Steve. Don’t worry about Sam. It was an accident and he doesn’t blame you for it. Trust me.”

Steve shakes his head, cradling his knees. He feels weak again. Control is also part of strength. If he hurts the ones he means to protect, then he’s not strong enough yet. He’s as bad as the people who trapped them, who made the Grievers, who erased their memories. There’s no excuse for his frenzy. Tomorrow he’ll ask Loki if he wants his position. Tomorrow he’ll focus on learning the maze and finding a way to break through it.

When he stands and turns around, Nick isn’t there anymore. It’s Peter. He shuffles his feet, chewing on the end of his thumb. “I brought you some food. I heard you haven’t eaten today.”

Steve smiles, taking the bowl. “Thanks, Pete.”

Peter shrugs, sitting next to him at the edge of the water. “I have a spare blanket if you need to use it while your clothes are drying.”

The stew is almost cold but tastes good enough that Steve hums in pleasure. Peter chuckles, folding his gangly knees under him in a yoga position. He glances at him from the corner of his eye and asks, “You don’t want to know what happened?”

“Well, yeah, but I figured you weren’t ready.”

Clever kid. He does see more than he lets on.

Peter rocks front and back, peering up at the stars shining through the trees. “Besides, I kind of figured it out by the massive hole in the Griever the size of your two fists.”

“Mhm,” says Steve, continuing to eat, his eyes lowered.


	7. Bruce's Social System

Bruce isn’t afraid of many people. He’s afraid of himself. Afraid of his anger. The same kind that Steve displayed with that Griever – from what Clint described to him. It’s part of why he has no interest in being a Runner. The other part is that he’s a researcher; he prefers working with numbers and facts. Not metal limbs and necessary violence.

When Rumlow went through the Changing, Bruce was the first to realize it wouldn’t get better. No one wanted to listen, though. Tony was cursing while fasting, spending hours on a solution and avoiding sleep in the process. But Bruce knew they didn’t have enough data. Even Loki couldn’t figure out how to counter the poison. They were lacking the tools to do anything extensive.

That evening, Natasha and Tony both laid next to Bruce. Rumlow had been exiled by Nick’s command. They couldn’t risk a spread. He was a good man. He was good at his role, one of the fastest Runners. He belonged to the maze and no one was allowed to help him return. In Bruce’s hammock, just behind the main hut, Natasha rested her head on his chest. Tony stroked his fingers through Bruce’s hair. It was the most peaceful he’d felt in months and it only took a tragedy to get there.

Since Sam arrived – witty and charming from day one – there hasn’t been another Changing. He and Clint have avoided infection with ease, thanks to Natasha’s training.

There was a time when Natasha wouldn’t even look Bruce in the eyes. She could probably see the fire that still burned there, the ashes leftover from when he was a Runner, ripping Grievers to shreds. Sometimes he killed other Runners by leaving them behind, not bringing them with him, letting them get trapped in the maze. He didn’t care; he just wanted a way out.

After a while, Bruce noticed Natasha had the same flare in her gaze: she recognized it because it was familiar. After a month, she finally spoke to him. It took a few more weeks for it to evolve into conversations. Long, complicated discussions about morality and if whoever put them in this maze was trying to punish them for their past life, an existence they barely remember. Eventually, she started touching his fingers, stroking his hair, cuddling on colder nights. She asked before doing anything, and he loves that about her.

She also happened to be the one to find Rumlow’s body on her final run. She was cast in shadows when she made it back, so Bruce knew. Tony cleared his throat and sent Bruce to console her. Clint hadn’t arrived yet.

Nowadays, Clint would be the one. And when he’s off in the maze, she comes and helps Bruce with his chores. Often dragging him to see Tony and socialize with something other than trees. She’s stronger than she looks, but then again, he isn’t really fighting.

Tony is…interesting. He’s blunt. He’s also very generous and funny. And a bit on the perverse side, but he knows how Bruce feels about sex: ask _someone else_ first. A few times he’s pulled Bruce in for a kiss when he figured out how to fix a particular weapon problem before Tony could, but he always follows it with a quick ‘sorry.’ Often, he asks first; usually when it’s late in the evening and he can’t sleep, can’t keep his demons out of his dreams. Something about his vulnerability makes it hard for Bruce to say no. Besides, it’s usually a soft peck, Tony’s hands cradling his jaw like he might dissolve when he reopens his eyes.

No one really asks Steve what he’s into because he has an intimidating look in his eyes most of the time, as if he’s focused on one thing and nothing else can be considered until that goal is reached. Considering the state of his fists when he came through the maze entrance, Bruce knows all he can consider is getting out. Getting everyone out. As much as Steve seems antisocial at times, hiding away in the forests, he always welcomes a visit from Thor, Loki, Peter or anyone else who bothers to visit him. Bruce would too if Tony didn’t keep him so busy trying to tailor Griever parts for them to use as weapons. Instead, he sends Natasha to spy and chat with him, asking for everything Steve said when she sneaks back to Tony’s workbench. It’s easier to keep an eye on others’ mental state when there’s help. But today he seems out of it.

Once in a while, Bruce will pretend to take a break and visit Loki in the wooded areas he likes. They have passionate debates about which company put them in the maze, and strolls in the shaded forest that calm Bruce’s nerves. Seeing Steve’s hands stained red shook Bruce to his core; he goes to find Loki again. As if reading his mind, Loki waits, meditating.

“Join me,” he says, his eyes closed. His hands rest on his folded knees.

Bruce sits across from him on the grass, pressing his hand against it to make sure it isn’t damp.

“I checked for us before I sat down,” says Loki.

“Thanks,” murmurs Bruce. He exhales loudly, rolling his shoulders. With his eyes closed, the maze goes away. It’s just him and Loki; just two men with little to nothing in common who somehow understand each other perfectly. They follow the same current even if they don’t go about it the same way.

Loki breathes out. “Was it difficult seeing him? Did you want to be a Runner again?”

Bruce almost opens his eyes, a faux-pas. It would break the gentle trance. “No, I don’t want to go in there unless it’s absolutely required.”

“Good,” mutters Loki. “I’m proud of you.”

They don’t say anything else for an hour. Bruce opens his eyes, and Loki looks at him with a smile. He stands, brushes away any dead leaves, and goes back to the Glade. Bruce feels oceans of relief flowing over him after the session. Loki’s a lot more helpful than he likes the others to believe.


	8. Another Box, another Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's past returns to him.

There’s a smell of animals permeating, barely any light. The Box moves in jolts, uneven on its path; it tells him it’s been used many times before. He’s not the first to be transported this way. His limbs feel numb as though he’s been drugged, his eyes can make out a sliver of light at the top. Most likely the end of the shaft where he’ll be let out and…who knows what else. He squats down, his knees tucked in in case of a hard impact. His hands outstretch, running along both sides of the cage, feeling food on one side and feathers on the other. A chicken nips him and he makes no sound in response. He knows someone could be listening.

Five minutes of climbing up into darkness with a gradient of light passing overhead. It’s an underground tunnel, a base for something normal up above. The smell of chemicals on his skin tickles his nose. He doesn’t sniff; he doesn’t do much of anything except blink. He waits, the box climbing faster now, his body being forced down by the speed. He digs his fingers into both sides he can touch. One of his hands whirr and bend the box; deep down, he hopes it’s not the ones with the chickens pecking at him.

The box squeals and finally comes to an abrupt stop, the top flying open to reveal bright sunlight. He closes his eyes a few moments, letting it hit his eyelids instead, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the overflow of it. He opens them to find about a dozen heads staring down at him in a mix of awe and horror. What is so different about him? What makes him not like the others that have come before?

One man stands out among them: he has blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and a genuine enough smile. But that’s not why he matters; he knows him. He knows his name even though he can’t remember his own. _Stevie?_ he thinks. _Steve, why do I know you?_

Likewise, Steve’s eyes widen and his lips part. He stares down at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Arms pull him out of the lift, a short man with a lean build and a tall, blond man with a few inches on Steve. They’re both greeting him with a smile, but other people in the group back away when he’s fully exposed to daylight. When his body isn’t hidden in shadows anymore.

He looks down at himself, wondering if he’s hurt or disfigured. He sees his arm, the one that whirred no doubt. The one that did, unfortunately, crush one of the chicken’s skulls when he was trying to keep himself grounded in the cage. His arm reflects sun into his eyes, but he spots the drips of blood between his knuckles. The head he’s holding. An animal he didn’t mean to harm. A part of his body he’s not sure was always his own.

A woman with red hair jogs away from him, towards a strangely archaic hut. Steve stays behind, observing him with the same look of familiarity, but curiosity for the arm as much as the others. It’s new then, something he didn’t always have attached to him. He had a real limb at one point. But it’s gone now. He can’t remember so he can’t miss it.

Someone speaks to him, a lean boy. Maybe eighteen years old. “Hi, my name’s Peter. Welcome to the Glade.” Peter extends a hand, but he’s afraid to accept it. Doesn’t want a repeat of what happened with the animals in the darkness.

He steps back, taking in his surroundings instead. They ask him questions, and he says nothing. They try to guide him towards the hut, but he doesn’t want to be anywhere he hasn’t investigated yet. Why should he trust them because Steve is among them? They’ve given him no reason to believe they’re allies and not enemies.

When they call out to him, calling him ‘newbie’ and ‘greenie,’ he decides it’s enough. He pushes through them, wrestles with the bigger blond man, and escapes within the forest. He climbs the first tree he finds, and hides in the thick of the leaves. No one follows him. They leave him alone. He can have a moment to consider the environment on his own, finally.

 

\---

 

He awakes to a searing pain inside his skull, his screams rip through his vocal muscles. He can’t breathe it’s so intense. The agony turns to a throbbing, a pulsing stab of information, forcing its way inside his mind. Through his own howling, his gasps to try and inhale oxygen along the pain, he hears someone speaking below. His body’s response would be to flee, to get away while he’s this vulnerable, but the man is unarmed. He’s carrying a basket, picking through mushrooms. He tells him, “It’s your name that harms you. You’ll remember it soon enough.”

The man continues to pick through plants, further away, never looking back over his shoulder. Allowing himself to be vulnerable in return.

The pain gets sharper, dulls his other senses until he’s nothing but a single axis between nerve endings and his skeletal functions. His body quakes with it, and he keeps fighting, pushing against it because he knows somewhere, far below his memories and consciousness, he’s known a worse pain than this before. He can nearly taste the end of it, reaching like grasping for rungs of a ladder when the blond man – the only one he recognizes – rushes into the woods.

Standing below the tree, Steve says, “Let it come out, it’s okay. It hurt me too.”

B – B – B – no, B is wrong. B is wrong and it’s not. B is something else. B means a connection to Steve but it’s not the word trying to push out of him. _Help me_ , he thinks he screams, he hopes he does. But his voice is gone, lost because of how much he’d been shouting. It’s nothing but air, a wheeze of pain that offers no relief.

Steve, slowly, climbs up the tree to meet him. He’s gentle when he touches his face, holds him steady, looking into his eyes. “You know me, don’t you? I saw you. I saw you in my dreams.”

Bucky says _yes_. No words leave his throat. He says _yes_ , but this time it battles against the fighting in his skull. Steve hisses like he’s been stung by a bee, touching the side of his own head.

“Did you – can you speak like that? Is it easier? Tell me something else.”

He nods, and says, _I know your name is Steve. I saw your face. I know you. Why?_

“I don’t know, Bucky.” Steve covers his mouth. In his mind he says, _how do I know that name? Is that your name?_

Bucky…Bucky feels like it belongs with the name _Steve_ , or _Stevie_. It might be a name for him, but it’s not the name trying to break free. The one piercing a hole inside his brain and trying to claw free. But why does he need that one when he can have Bucky, and have this Steve? This man with soft eyes watching him so intently, stroking his cheek. Why does he need anything else when that one word can mean having this with little Stevie?

Another ping inside his head. He’s not little anymore. He must have been once, around the same time he was ‘Bucky’ with two flesh arms of his own. Not one monstrous and violent that seems to have its own mind.

“Talk to me, Bucky. It’s Bucky, right?” asks Steve.

They’re sitting so close together, knees bumping, their arms holding onto branches and the tree’s trunk. Leaves come away when Bucky lets go. _James_ slams against the side of his face, forcing him to whip his head back. JAMES.

 

J A M E S

 

Bucky finds his voice and roars out, “No, I’m not!”

He pants, leaning his head forward on Steve’s chest, his fingers tangling in cotton with holes in it. A beige outfit that’s humble but functional. They live in the basest way here, which explains why a metal arm would be so jarring. With the last of his will, Bucky whispers out, “Yeah, I’m Bucky. I’m Bucky. Call me that. _Please_.” James doesn’t matter. James is someone else, someone who belongs in a past with an arm that was ripped from him. He doesn’t want James back. He has Bucky now; it’s all he needs.

Bucky passes out, his body collapsing atop Steve in a godforsaken tree.

 

\---

 

Bucky know his body is being moved, but he also smells Steve – a tinge of pine and dried blood underneath his fingernails – so he doesn’t fight it. The red haired woman watches him with apprehension, the same as when she’d ran off to the hut. The same hut he realizes he is now lying in, on a cot that seems to be made of sticks and animal skins. It’s not the worst place he’s ever slept, his body tells him. His body tells him most things; his mind seems to only be preoccupied with safety and reason, and _Steve_.

Though he’s half-conscious, his voice still won’t work because of the shouting. He listens to them, his eyes closed. More than capable at playing dead if the situation requires it.

“I think we should send him into the maze,” says the woman. “He looks like he’s one of the Grievers.”

“It’s just metal. Don’t jump to conclusions,” says a man with an authoritative voice, a deep one that reveals he’s also the eldest among them. “Besides, he hasn’t demonstrated any aggressive behaviour towards anyone except himself.”

Steve is next to speak up. “I know him. I knew him from before the maze. I think he’s here for a reason. We need his help. He might be able to get us out.”

Natasha paces, her boots inaudible to anyone but Bucky who knows what sounds to look for – always aware of people and their placement, as well as exits and possible weapons. His life seems to have been about survival thus far.

“I agree with Steve,” says the other man. “But to appease you, Natasha, I’ll allow a probation period. We can observe him for a week or so and see if he settles in properly. If he doesn’t, and he begins to treat the other Gladers improperly, we’ll have to banish him.”

Steve breathes out, “Unbelievable,” under his breath and walks out.

Natasha’s voice sounds closer when she asks the older man, “Do you think he’d let us analyze his arm? Tony could tell us if it’s harmful or meant to help.”

“I’d suggest you ask him when he’s conscious. Preferably with Steve in the vicinity since he seems the most comfortable around him.”

“Mmm,” she says. “He’s not actually sleeping though.”

Bucky is struck by panic, nearly breaking him out of his body’s state of repose. There’s someone on this land who speaks and thinks like him, knows his tricks. Instead of it being disconcerting, it’s oddly…relieving. He opens his eyes to confirm her words, his throat still too hoarse to speak. He tries telling her ‘hi’ in his mind. She doesn’t seem to feel it the way Steve did.

Natasha looks over to the elder – a man with a patch over his eye. “Told you,” she says, and leaves the hut.

The patch-eyed man rubs his forehead, his other arm behind his back. A soldier once upon a time, a commander maybe. Some kind of military leader. There’s pain in his expression that’s been dulled by years of repetition, and something slightly dark. Something that makes Bucky want to crawl out of his skin. He sits up, and the man tells him, “I’m Nick. The leader of the Gladers. You met Natasha and Steve, so hopefully you’ll meet the rest later. There’s going to be a bonfire in your honour. Until then, you can rest as long as you need.”

 

\---

 

A bonfire is the last thing Bucky needs. His throat is still a raw wound, letting him croak out words from time to time. The way he speaks to Steve with just his thoughts doesn’t seem to work on anyone else. He knows; he’s tried on Peter, Natasha and Loki… They’re all wary of him. Each one smiles, offering their hand to shake, but their eyes speak volumes about how they really feel about him. Steve is the only one who sits comfortably next to him, his eyes looking toward the crackle of the fire. He’s chewing on homemade sausages that a man called ‘Happy’ made. Bucky would make a joke about his name, but ‘Bucky’ isn’t much better.

Peter is young; he’s naïve in that sense. He’s not worried about the dangers of Bucky’s arm like the rest of the Gladers. He sits next to Steve, glancing over his large frame to see Bucky. He smiles when Bucky turns and catches his eye. He tries again: _can you hear me, Peter?_

The younger man furrows his brows. He asks, “Is something wrong? Why are you looking at me so intensely?” He nudges Steve with an elbow, a playful whine to his voice. “Steve, save me, your boyfriend wants to kill me!”

That gets Bucky to laugh. It also hurts his throat. He rubs at his neck with his flesh hand, hoping the warmth will help. Steve chuckles behind his hand, patting Peter on the back. “Sorry, pal,” he tells Peter, “but we’re not dating so if he wants to kill you, I can’t technically stop him.”

Peter raises a brow, glancing between the two of them. “For serious? Even Loki saw the connection between you two. I know you’ll be boinking here a week. Maybe even sooner. Maybe right now in front of me. Ewwww.” He laughs, dodging when Steve tries to whack the back of his head.

Bucky can only offer a smirk. He sips from a glass container that smells like seaweed and coffee. The taste inside isn’t unpleasant, but he’d rather it not be so high in alcoholic content. He also wishes it didn’t hurt the open flesh of his throat. He guzzles some as to not insult the new group. As subtly as he can, he hides the rest between his legs. Both Steve and Peter are looking at him, frowns on their faces.

 _What?_ he asks Steve. _I can’t drink it. My throat._

Steve shakes his head _. I didn’t think you would. It was just a test; Peter put me through it, too. Don’t worry about it._ He turns to Peter. “That wasn’t very nice, Petey. You know he can’t even talk right now.”

“Shit, I forgot. Sorry, dude!” Peter scratches at the nape of his neck. “Anyway, I’m going to get a second helping of sausages before Thor inhales them all. You guys want any?”

Steve says no, smiling. Bucky shakes his head with what he hopes is a friendly expression. Peter shrugs and runs off. He doesn’t return. An hour passes in silence, save for a few stray thoughts that leak from Bucky’s mind into Steve’s. As the bonfire gets less and less bright, he drifts closer to Steve without meaning to. Their knuckles brush against each other. Their shoulders touch briefly. Steve clears his throat, his eyes permanently looking at a now dim fire. Bucky doesn’t mean to, but his head feels heavy and it pushes him more into Steve. His whole body feels drawn to him and comfortable. Likewise, Steve tucks Bucky’s head against his shoulder, an arm around him. It feels like a century since Bucky has been this at ease. He falls asleep.

 

\---

 

In the night, Bucky’s mind reels with images of a past life. He and Steve run through bombs dropping, guns shooting, people screaming in German, bullets grazing elbows and knees. At one point, Steve is too far away to reach. At another, he’s falling and Steve is screaming because he can’t stop it. There’s a tank. There’s a flood of water. Bucky can’t breathe; he can’t see; he can’t break free. Time escapes him. Time returns with a flood of pain to his limbs; he’s screaming, howling, shouting, “Let me at least see Steve! Let me talk to him!” Then, he’s frozen again. His body trapped in a tank. Just below the surface. No way to escape. No way to get to Steve.

“Steve! Steve!” he’s shouting, provoking a scratching like knives against the skin in his throat.

Warm hands wrap around him, blanket his face with relief. He knows that scent, knows it means familiarity. He sighs. Steve shushes him, tucking him in close to his chest. “I got you, Bucky. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The hammock sways just a little, just enough to lull him back to sleep. Steve hums until Bucky’s heart beat slows down to a peaceful rhythm. He drifts in and out of consciousness, not sure if he’s whispering aloud or in his mind, but Steve answers every time with a soft, “I promise I won’t leave you. I promise.” It’s enough; it’s all Bucky needs.


	9. Unintended Weapon

Tony is fascinated by Bucky. The workbench is what has most of Bucky’s attention. That and Jarvis who seems completely indifferent to Tony’s lewd humour. Tony is too physical for Bucky’s taste. Jarvis stands at a respectable distance, his arms folded behind him, observing. Like Peter did.

People like Peter, they know boundaries; he knew that it was okay to tease verbally. He never once tried to reach out for Bucky’s arm. For that matter, neither did Steve except when Bucky was in a heightened state of panic. Tony ignores the cues of discomfort in favour of getting deep underneath people’s skin. Bucky sees all this by the way he interacts with everyone else. In his case, Tony just circles him like a hawk, pointing out probabilities and possibilities of the technology his arm is made of until Bucky gets dizzy. It’s enough. He’s back to that familiar unease.

Too bad Steve has a responsibility as a Runner. He explained it an hour ago, his hands cupping Bucky’s face. He asked in the kindest, most sincere voice, “Are you going to be all right for a few hours? Should I stay until you’re settled in? I asked Loki to take my place, but he said I was better suited for it…”

Bucky swallowed the real reply; even forced his mind to push it away. He nodded once as firmly as he could. Steve’s task is necessary. If they want to leave the maze, they need as many people as possible studying the layout. He’s a mess; he can’t be of any help anyway.

Apparently, Tony doesn’t see him that way. “They must have thought your arm couldn’t be saved and decided this was the next best option,” he says to himself. He’s still circling Bucky. Jarvis clears his throat, trying to get Tony’s attention after he makes eye contact with Bucky and notices his discomfort.

Bucky has told Tony ten times to _stop pacing_ in his mind; it hasn’t gotten through once.

“In case you didn’t know—” Tony says, crossing his arms. He finally stops in front of Bucky, eyes still fixed on the metal arm. “—Nick and Natasha want me to assess this prosthesis of yours. If you have any objections – which I suggest you shouldn’t because it might make you seem suspicious – speak now or forever hold your peace.”

There’s a moment where Bucky considers saying no, telling them all to go fuck themselves if they don’t trust him, but he thinks better of it. What would Steve think? How could he find out about this appendage without someone to help him? He hums his assent, outstretching his arm. Jarvis is kind enough to hold it steady for him, taking some of the weight.

“Oh, goody,” says Tony with a clap of delight. “I was hoping you’d let me take a closer look at this bad boy.” He takes a pair of glasses out of his pant pocket and the lenses shift forward, moving like a microscope. “Move as little as possible unless I ask you to do something.”

Bucky makes a humming sound again, trying not to growl in annoyance as fingers trail at the top of his shoulder where flesh and metal meet. It’s a painful spot, one that feels intimate and vulnerable. He fights against the shiver crawling up his spine. Jarvis gives him a rueful smile.

From within the workbench drawer, Tony pulls out gloves and a long silver tool possibly meant for prodding. He slips on the gloves, glancing up at Bucky’s tight expression. “You okay there, buddy?”

Bucky grits out, “Fine.” He squares his jaw, unwilling to admit this is worrying him. What if Tony finds out what he is? Why he has this? What if he ends up being a weapon after all? He can’t take not knowing, but finding out he’s right might hurt most of all. Steve would be devastated, and so would he.

Jarvis whispers, “sir” and Tony pushes his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “If something’s bothering you or it’s hurting, tell me. I’m not doing this to torture you. It’s just a safety precaution.”

With a final sigh, Bucky shakes his head. “Go on,” he croaks because he has to know even if he doesn’t like the outcome.

“I like you,” says Tony, apropos of nothing. His fingers slide along the metal, pressing each link and moving it upward. There aren’t any explosives underneath at least, no spikes either. When he stretches for Tony to touch around his elbow and the back of his arm, the metal inside whirrs loudly. Tony raises a brow. “Was that you?”

“The arm,” say Bucky and Jarvis in unison. He doesn’t control the sounds it makes; doesn’t know if he can even control most of it for the moment. His mind is a flurry of emotions. Jarvis moves when Tony needs him to, in sync with him from lots of practice most likely.

Tony nods, getting back to business. He tilts his head, trying to help with the awkward position. The metal is heavy, tugs at Bucky’s shoulder, so lifting it too high hurts his muscles a bit. Underneath the arm, Tony cranes his neck, ducks down a bit to make the angle more tolerable. His prodding stick comes out and he tries to lift one layer of metal.

Jarvis has his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and begins to tell Tony, “Sir, may I suggest—”

A shock zips through Bucky and his mind blanks out. His eyes are closed for a long time. He hears voices like chanting, whispers of something important. The buzz of it grows louder until it forces his eyes to open. What he sees shakes him. Tony is turning purple, Bucky’s grip around his throat like a vice, whirring growing louder as his arm tries to crush Tony’s windpipes. Bruce is pulling at the arm, and so are Thor and Loki. Natasha tries to peel his fingers loose, shouting for Bucky to stop. He’s not controlling it. Why can’t they see how wide his eyes are? How shocked he is with himself?

“I’m not doing it,” he tries to say. It’s barely a murmur over the cacophony of their shouts. They already think he’s a monster; he’s just proven he is one. The only one looking at him with sympathy is Jarvis, standing out of the way to let the others help.

The Runners come back early from the maze, having heard the screaming. They get involved with the tug-o-war. Tony is nearly unconscious when Steve pulls Bucky back by the top of his shoulder while Bruce searches along the underside of the metal for a way to reset this. With a heaving breath, they fall apart.

Bucky lands in Steve’s lap, both of them tangled atop grass. Tony falls back to the ground, Thor and Bruce quick enough to catch him. Loki reaches for Natasha’s arm when she stalks towards Bucky, her shoulders tense with anger. He whispers something that calms her; she looks down, shaking her head. “I almost forgot,” she mutters. Loki nods, leading her to the main hut where Nick is standing. He looks disappointed with the situation more than anything else. He certainly can’t be as disappointed as Bucky feels with himself.

 

\---

 

Bruce accompanies Bucky to speak with Nick; he’s the one who arrived the fastest, saw the most. He was the calmest as well. From practice, Bucky guesses. Steve isn’t allowed inside. He waits at the door, listening closely. For the first time, Bucky feels fear – but not of pain or repercussion. Fear of being sent away from Steve and the others. He’s…fond of them. Steve most of all.

As Nick begins a calm tirade about trust and violence among the Gladers, Bucky says nothing. When Nick asks him what he was thinking, he can’t think of a response. When he’s told to explain the situation immediately, his voice won’t come to him. The words are lost, far out of reach, and he knows this will only make his fear a reality.

Bruce steps forwards saying, “It wasn’t his fault. I saw what happened. Tony was analyzing his arm as you instructed, and triggered a mechanism underneath Bucky’s elbow. It was an accident.”

Nick hums, his brow knit. He turns around, pacing towards the facing wall. When he turns back, he glances at both Bucky and Bruce. He nods for Bruce to exit the hut, leaving Bucky alone with the leader.

“I expect you to be careful with that trigger. Make sure it’s covered up so it can’t be pressed accidently, all right?” says Nick, his arms crossed.

Bucky swallows. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. But since you caused commotion and added more tension to our already stressful environment, I’ll have to sentence you to two days in The Slammer. No food permitted either. You’re dismissed.” He waves an arm.

When Bucky doesn’t leave as instructed, too relieved with the outcome, Bruce shuffles back in and drags him out. Bruce salutes Nick, ducking his head politely. Once they’re out, Steve asks what the verdict is – his face as filled with worry as Bucky’s was – and they hug when Bucky explains. Peter sneaks up behind them, squeezing in between to join in on the hug. “What are we celebrating though?”

 

\---

 

It’s essentially a cage in the ground. Somewhat reminiscent of the Box he was brought here in. Not much light gets in between the wooden bars, but he doesn’t miss it much. Steve is a sweetheart. He brings him glass jars of water and warm clothes in case he’s cold during the night. Then he’s off running with Sam and Clint because it’s his duty.

For the most part, being locked up is okay. They aren’t supposed to speak to him, but some do anyway. It’s not like there’s psychological or physical abuse happening – which could have been an option. He could have been exiled, executed even. But he’s just here bored instead. Bored is decent. Bored is tolerable. Boredom never killed anyone as far as Bucky knows.

It’s mid-afternoon when he spots someone in the distance. Bruce walks with his hands in his pockets, his heels dragging slightly from fatigue. He’s a small man to be doing such hard physical labour. The wooden bars cut Bucky’s view into strips, but leaning to the side a bit reveals Bruce’s expression; he looks contemplative.

Bruce stops when he’s about a foot away, his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to tell the others to be afraid of that defense mechanism of yours like Nick wants me to. But I might have to warn them to be careful. I think you have a few trigger words we haven’t come across yet.”

Bucky blinks, pursing his lips in question. “Triggers? Like a dog?”

“You’ve been programmed by whoever stuck us here. It’s not your fault.” He hands Bucky half a loaf of cheese-baked bread, Happy’s favourite dish to make. It tastes warm even though Happy usually bakes early morning for the Runners’ energy.

Bucky inhales the scent of it, smiling. “Tell Happy thanks for me.” He chews it in small bites. His stomach isn’t empty; it isn’t usually anything. He can hold off eating, sleeping and still complete all of his chores. Steve is the same way, but he enjoys Happy’s grin when they eat his meals.

“The quiet ones are always dangerous,” says Bruce, wandering off with a casual wave.

 _Takes one to know one_ , Bucky thinks. Bruce turns to wink at him.

 


	10. Bucky in Good Company

It’s nearly morning when Steve sneaks by the pit. Nick called it something else though, something stupid. Something as nonsensical as calling mechanical creatures with no emotion “Grievers.” (How could they ‘grieve’ anyone?) He almost has the name on his tongue—

“How was your first night in The Slammer?” asks Steve. He seems inexplicably chipper for someone trapped in a maze with the rest of them.

“It was great. Like a five star hotel.” In his mind, Bucky tells him, _Bruce thinks I have more triggers. How can I be around everyone and not hurt them?_

 _I’ll watch your back. So will Peter._ Steve smiles. _And maybe Jarvis if you ask Tony nicely._

“Is he not his own person?” says Bucky, raising a brow.

Steve shakes his head, laughing. “Once you work for Tony, you lose that privilege.”

“Remind me never to apply for a job with him,” teases Bucky, grinning. Steve’s good humour is contagious.

They chat for a few more minutes and then Steve leaves for another run. Bucky is back to being lonely and bored. Mostly bored.

 

\---

 

Natasha remedies that quickly. She moves swiftly through the trees, carrying a basket. She stops in front of the cage. The Slammer. Bucky expects to be cursed at, insulted, maybe threatened. She stands still as a statue, no part of her moving save for the blinking of her eyes. She puts down the basket, taking a seat. At eye level, she’s less intimidating, but no less uncanny. She makes him uneasy.

Without pretense, she says, “I almost killed Thor my first week in the Glade. I had my legs over his shoulders, my thighs wrapped around his neck, ready to snap it. He was barely fighting back, just holding me still to keep me from falling off.”

Bucky watches her, waiting. She sighs, picking up her basket. “Wait—” he says.

She sits back down. “I’m only telling you because I understand. I know how easy it is to blame yourself for a mistake.” She swallows. “I almost blamed you, and I’m sorry. It’s not fair. We’ve all come from somewhere, with different training. It’s a hard transition in a strange place. We don’t know why we’re here but we’re all we have. We can’t turn on each other – even if we’re programmed to destroy everything.” She smiles with genuine emotion in her eyes. “Right?”

“Right…” he agrees. “Are you going to tell me—”

“Maybe another day,” she says. “Gotta go before Nick gets mad at me for socializing.” She hands him a couple of the mushrooms she picked. “Those ones should be okay raw.”

Bucky doesn’t mind eating anything in particular, but something tells him mushrooms aren’t his favourite. He eats them anyway because she brought them.

 

\---

 

Steve brings food, Peter does, Natasha does, and Bruce, too. He’s eating more inside of the Slammer than he did while he was free to roam the Glade. Not that he can complain. Nick catches Bruce sliding him a baked potato and looks away instead of punishing them. Then it’s morning. Sun warms his arms as he stretches them over his head. There wasn’t much room in that cage.

Bucky’s throat hurts, though. It burns like he’s been teaching for a decade. Bruce pulls him aside gently, into the forest. He offers Bucky remedies for his throat that he prepared. “I heard you screaming in your sleep,” he says, patting him on the back. “I’m surprised you slept through it.”

It tastes rancid, but he can feel the rawness of his throat lessening. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, picking up his ax. He draws back and leans in on a swing, pieces of bark flying in all directions. He does it again. _There’s no switch in your arm, Bucky._ He faces him, wiping the sweat from his brow.

As much as yesterday startled him, he thought he just imagined Bruce’s grin. Steve seemed to be the only one who could hear his thoughts. “What do you—” _What do you mean?_

Bruce swings at the tree again, panting. _Tony might have jolted your programming with something he said, but there was no ‘on/off’ switch._

There’s a sour taste on Bucky’s tongue. It was _him_. Bruce lied for him, saved him from…Well, all of his fears.

 _I lied because I know what it’s like not to trust yourself. As do most of the others. It’s better to have someone watching your back, encouraging you. I’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get in too much trouble._ He pants, wiping the sweat from his brow on his t-shirt. “We’ve all been there,” he says.

Suddenly, Bucky wants to verify how true that is.

 

\---

 

In the morning, Steve kisses him on the forehead and prepares to do some chores before a trip through the maze. Apparently, Loki refuses to take his place as a Runner. Bucky pretends to be asleep; it’s easier to watch him that way. Steve falls for it. He does it again a few more times. For the next couple days, he uses his stealth, skills he doesn’t know the origin of, and observes the Glade.

Bucky notices most of them have rage issues.

Peter’s are pretty tame, but he hates anyone getting hurt. The time Sam comes back with a swollen ankle, Peter stalks over to Bruce’s lumber equipment, picks up an ax, and tries to rush into the maze with it. Natasha and Thor catch him by his arms and fling him back inside – just in time to watch the entrance slam at their feet. Peter calms when Sam explains he just twisted it being careless; he and Clint were teasing each other and he tripped over an uneven stone in the floor.

Other Gladers’ issues aren’t as subtle. Steve rips most Grievers apart with his bare hands, which keeps Tony from getting the parts he needs to create a ‘bodyguard’ that Natasha has in mind.

Thor’s temperament is too relaxed considering the circumstances. He never shows anyone his frustration, but Bucky knows it’s there. He hides it, holds it in until he gets to the woods, where Loki strokes his back to calm him. Bucky swears he sees Thor punch through the centre of a tree, though it wouldn’t be the first time his mind played tricks on him. Who would believe him anyway? Afterward, Thor’s shoulders shake with exhaustion and Loki pulls him in for a hug that seems habitual.

Tony manipulates his anger and frustration into productivity. He sleeps at most three to four hours per night. (Bucky knows because he, himself, can only manage meager spurts of two hours before nightmares crawl into his psyche.)

Natasha wouldn’t like to hear that she’s the mother hen, but she is; she’s fiercely protective of the Gladers. She’s still wary of Bucky because of that –and the fact that Tony hasn’t completed his analysis of the metal arm. Tomorrow, or soon, he’ll volunteer. He’ll even ask Peter and Bruce to supervise.

Clint…Clint is difficult to interpret. He makes a lot of jokes, is usually in a good mood, and gets along with everyone. Everyone. Even Loki occasionally walks through the forest with him in the evening. They don’t discuss anything related to the maze. Bucky doesn’t blame them.

Sam is an exception; he appears to be the designated calm spirit, the Zen master within the group. No matter how high tensions rise, he breathes, and manages to get everyone to let go somehow. His own anger is mild and easily dealt with; he uses humour and exercise to keep his nerves at ease.

Nick doesn’t get involved enough with anything to be affected. He deals with the big picture, not the aggravating details. Not interpersonal relationships. That seems to fall on Natasha’s shoulders, and Bruce when he’s done chores for the day. Steve does most of them, even though he’s a Runner and doesn’t need to.

Bucky supposes Bruce was right about them understanding.


	11. Frustration Brings Mistakes

The Keeper of the Gladers calls a meeting in the afternoon. Everyone goes to the main hut, gathered around Nick as he stands with his arms crossed behind his back. “I need to do a mission,” he says, pacing. Steve’s brow creases; there’s an odd feeling in the air. “I’d like to bring Jarvis with me,” he tells Tony. “Can you spare him for a few hours?”

Tony laughs slightly. “Yeah, sure. He’s his own man. Pete! You wanna be my assistant today?”

Peter grins, nodding. “Sounds like fun.”

Bucky leans in to tell Steve, “You think they’ll actually get any work done?”

Clint and Sam look uncharacteristically serious. Nick turns to them with a lift to the corner of his mouth; a smile in his world perhaps. “Now, boys, it’s not that I doubt your abilities. I just don’t want to make you go on another run. Jarvis is more than enough for what I have planned.”

Natasha crosses her legs, leaning back against Bruce’s shoulder. “And what’s that?”

They were all thinking it; Steve just doesn’t feel that he knows Nick – or this group – well enough to question his actions yet. It might be taken as rebellion, treachery. He could look suspicious.

Thor groans in agreement with Natasha. “I’d like to know as well. Perhaps I could accompany you as I—”

“Gladers, I am your leader.” Nick sighs, standing firm. “I am going to find a Griever for myself, and see what I can learn. We’ve lost enough members. We’re running out of time.” He glances around, people bowing their heads. “Jarvis is strong and smart enough to lead and aid me if I need it. Besides, if you’ve forgotten, I am the only one who spent a month in the Glade by myself.”

Natasha looks away; Tony looks down, his shoulders tense.

“I can try to find a Griever for us to reprogram and use as defence in the maze. And…maybe I can find the others this time so we can pay our respects properly,” Nick finishes quietly.

A gloom fills the hut, their circle turning into an almost spiritual gathering as everyone ducks their heads in respect of the fallen Gladers. Bucky nudges Steve when he doesn’t follow suit. “Show your respect,” he whispers.

Steve closes his eyes, looking down. His hands rest in his lap; Bucky holds one of them, gentle. The moment passes, and Nick dismisses everyone but Jarvis who says, “It would be an honour, sir.”

They stagger out in a daze, forming a line like schoolchildren.

\---

 

As much as the others want to follow – Steve can tell by their sullen eyes and parted mouths – they just wave and go back to doing chores. Keeping busy. Loki stands at the entrance the longest, long after the rest have resumed work. He stares into the shadows of the maze; endless corridors of stone walls ensure most sunlight stays out, so it’s easy to lose track of time. The Runners set alarms for that purpose – ones that Tony created from Griever scraps – and it prevents any more losses. Does Nick have the same? He must since he brought Jarvis who is basically an extension of Tony’s mind. Everyone knows how inseparable they are, how much they have in common.

Thor brings a pack of cards into the centre of the Glade; a subtle way to watch for Nick’s return while passing the time. No one is able to focus much anyway. Peter teaches Bucky to play ‘bullshit,’ a game where someone wins mostly by lying well. Unsurprisingly, the stealthiest Gladers are the most skilled at it. Natasha, Clint and Peter. Loki, along with them, dominates the game. Because Steve is awful at the game, the most entertaining part is watching to see which liar can lie _best_.

When it’s down to those four, Clint purposely loses when his stomach growls out a ruckus. He skitters away to bug Happy for a snack. Natasha watches him with a frown, her stomach making noise too. “Excuse me for a bit,” she says.

The game gets put on hold, the Gladers bored – but also worried – again. Peter and Loki eye each other – something Steve’s not seen before. Bucky is just as curious, raising a brow in Steve’s direction. _What’s up with that_ , he says internally.

Peter grins, a playful gleam in his brown eyes. “Want to play Speed?”

“Thought you’d never ask. It’s been weeks since the last time we played.” Loki mirrors Peter’s grin, scooting closer to him.

“I’ve been practicing so I don’t lose as badly as last time,” admits Peter with a chuckle. He cuts the deck evenly, then passes each of them six cards to hold in their hands. With a breath, his hand hovers over one of the decks, and Loki the other. “Ready?” he asks.

Loki’s eyes turn predatory. “As I always am.”

Steve gapes, looking around at the others to see if they are just as surprised with their dynamics, or if they knew about this and never told him. Frankly, they seem stricken. Clint narrows his eyes, chewing on a bit of meat from a plate Happy prepared him; Sam makes a few aborted hand gestures, finally resorting to blatant pointing. Bucky laughs in the crook of Steve’s neck when he leans back, wrapping arms around his waist. _I didn’t know either. Imagine that._

Thor is the only one not watching in awe; he has an oddly affectionate look on his face, his eyes soft, blinking slow. A smile turns up one corner of his lips when he makes eye contact with Peter from behind Loki’s shoulder. The blush is almost hard to catch, but Steve’s sure it’s there. They must have a connection as well.

It’s enough of a distraction – watching Peter grin at Loki, slapping cards down as quickly as they can – that a couple hours pass. Everyone’s stomachs rumble at different moments, but the hunger is unanimous. Happy, the ever-sensing man that he is, brings out a plate of baked potatoes with chicken legs on the side for everyone to share. The meal becomes very silent, only the sound of their fingers touching the plate and their chewing. The cards remain in the centre of the campfire.

Then, the sun blinds Steve, his hand going up to shade his eyes, when it didn’t need to earlier. It’s setting quickly. Sam looks towards the maze entrance; the Gladers hold their breath, no longer eating. Happy stands next to Tony, a hand on his shoulder, gently comforting. Jarvis is in there too. His friend, his partner.

The last of the sun travels across their faces, stopping at Loki’s feet. He almost seems to want to step on it and keep it there a while longer. Then it’s gone. With the beginnings of evening, the Griever sounds begin, the maze door closes with a menacing wail. No Nick, no Jarvis. And no one survives a night in the maze – everyone has repeated that to Steve countless times.

 

\---

 

There’s barely any rest at their camp. Even Steve, who hasn’t known Nick long, understands his importance as a pillar, as their leader. Bruce has to take over his role temporarily though he seems unhappy about it.

In the forest, Steve and Bucky sit in a large, old tree, their legs dangling over the branches. It’s approaching day at this point. When they couldn’t sleep, they decided to keep an eye on the maze from above. Up in this high tree.

“I hear someone,” says Bucky, closing his eyes. He doesn’t seem bothered; he stays within the circle of Steve’s arms, his head resting back on his shoulder. It must be someone he likes.

Steve glances around until he finds Bruce, soaked in sweat, carrying an ax over his shoulder. Behind him, there’s an entire area of demolished trees, flattened, chopped, and placed in haphazard piles. He must have been working for hours, unable to sleep either. Destroying a forest isn’t much a solution, though.

Steve calls down to him, “Bruce!”

Bruce blinks a few times, as if stepping out of a trance. He drops his ax, his arms wobbly from overuse. He collapses to his knees, breathing hard. Bucky’s eyes snap open and he leaps out of the tree, landing next to Bruce. Steve climbs a bit lower before jumping; he needs to save his energy for what he has planned later.

With wide eyes, Bruce pants, his hands trembling. Steve rubs his shoulders to calm him; Bucky cleans the splinters and crusted blood from his hands. His knuckles are too raw to take care of here. Steve sighs.

“I’m going into the maze. We can’t leave things like this,” he tells Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes are lidded, the exhaustion getting to him. He nods, looking down at his hands. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Steve.”

They walk Bruce back to camp so he can make the announcement.

 

\---

 

Steve waits next to the maze entrance, a bag over his shoulder with water and small snacks Happy insisted he bring. He sets the timer on his watch so they won’t get locked inside and cause more grief. Clint jogs towards him next, greeting him with a nod. Sam appears a minute later, his expression unusually stiff, determined. Then, the surprise: Bucky is granted permission to join their group. He hurries over to the entrance, smiling.

“Four heads are better than three?” he says with a hopeful smile.

It’s certainly easier to cover the ground they need to as four. There are three open sections today - each group of two take one each, and they do the one closest the entrance section (four) as a whole unit. It’s what Clint decides. They’re also in luck since one of the sections that was open yesterday is open again today; they may find something of use in there.

They run the first section at a decent pace, five hundred meters done in a minute and a half. There’s a goal this time, not just random exploration in hopes of finding a passage or a clue they may have missed earlier. The Gladers deserve to know if Nick, and Jarvis, is alive, and if not – then be able to bury them both.

Section four is done in less than thirty minutes, a clean sweep and nothing so far. Not even Griever remnants from previous runs. No one is sweating yet, but that’s to be expected. The difficult part comes when they have to branch out – the other two sections are located on opposite ends of the maze. Too far to call for back-up if they need it.

Steve feels he should say something to the others, but they’re gone when he finally decides that only ‘Good luck,’ really works in this situation. He and Sam run towards the right, while the other two go left. Within moments, they’re disappearing behind large, vine-covered stone walls. Although Steve is often silent, lost in thought, it bothers him that usually chatty Sam is doing the same right now.

Grievers pervade his mind from the silence. They don’t usually appear in the day, but they might. They _could_. He’s been lucky so far not to witness a Griever sting’s affect, but it could happen now, with them at their weakest. From the stories he was told, a sting – could be just a mild scratch - renders the mind savage, uncontrollable, consumed with a violence that can’t be contained. The Gladers weren’t able to cure a few Runners in the past when the fever hit. Nick had declared that any Glader – no matter how beloved or important – would be immediately banished to the maze at that point. The risk was too great. If they could return from a night inside, the poison would have passed through their system.

No one had managed.

 

\---

 

It feels like hours that they’ve been in this part of the maze, retracing steps they’ve taken many times in the past. Sam is still focused solely on running, on catching any trace of a Griever having attacked Nick and Jarvis. Steve’s mind is elsewhere; he wonders if maybe Natasha should have replaced him, Thor even.

Before they left, Thor came to him, a large hand on his shoulder. “Steven, you must be careful. The maze is not always predictable. Rarely does it ever open the same quadrants. If that were to occur, be extra wary. Do not lose focus.”

One piece of advice, and Steve failed to listen. His mind seeks out Bucky’s, wants to touch his, know that he’s doing well. _Are you okay? Anything new?_ Somehow, their minds feel too far for it to send. He never tested the reach of their bond. How far before they would be too far to communicate. It frightens him.

 _Nothing yet_ , replies Bucky. Steve sighs with relief, smiling briefly. It’s all he needs. He can go on now. He can do this – be strong like Sam is, like the other team probably is. He can do this for the Gladers waiting anxiously back where there’s only mosquitoes and boars to harm you.

Sam stops a couple times, glancing at his timer to make sure they’re still on track; Steve checks as well. They have a few hours left, certainly enough to get through this section and run back if they keep at this pace. It’s maybe better that they aren’t talking; the distraction could make them miss an important piece of information –

After a quarter hour, Sam tells Steve to wait and jogs off to inspect something. He kneels down, touching the floor panels, glancing up at the dimming sunlight. He groans, glancing back at Steve. Whatever he found wasn’t worth the time, apparently. He jogs back to him. “Let’s keep moving,” he says.

They go on like this for a while, until they find a boot. The kind the Gladers all wear. Steve begins to feel nervous – not sure if this will be positive or negative, or even help at all. It could just be a trap to lead them to a dangerous part of the maze. As they move forward, nearing the end of this section, they find more clothing: pants, socks, pieces of a shirt.

Then, there’s a body, contorted out of shape and sparking with electricity. Without approaching, they can’t tell what it is. It’s not a Griever; they’ve never been in the shape of humans; though, that would have been a good idea. With every approaching step, Steve’s stomach plummets further. Will someone they used to know turn out to be this – this mechanical thing?

Sam arrives first, and punches into the body. Close enough now, Steve sees who it is – Jarvis. The kindest, most endearing man at camp, always ready to lend an ear when Tony would let him, is a robot. An android. His blue eyes sizzle with cut circuits. Steve turns him over since Sam seems too appalled to even touch this traitor any more, and there are letters carved into his back above his power board – S H I E L D.

“Does that mean anything to you?” asks Steve.

Sam shakes his head. “But I guess Nick found out he – _it_ \- wasn’t human and broke it. I think I see slice marks from the weapons Tony made,” says Sam. He’s talking through his teeth.

It may be worse that they found only Jarvis. He - _it_ \- is here, and Nick is gone. Gone who knows where. Possibly dead because he figured out too much. Maybe he found an exit and is getting help for the Gladers. There are so many possibilities , and less answers by the hour.

Sam sighs, rubbing his nape. “We have two hours to get back. Let’s run as fast as possible.” He tucks his shirt into his pants. “Don’t worry about the other two, Steve. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re one of us, right?”

Steve swallows, dipping his head. “Yeah.” He closes his eyes, sending out: _Bucky, please be careful. We’re coming back now_. When he reopens them, Sam is already running ahead but he catches up easy. The sounds of Grievers begin a low murmur.

It’s an hour later when he finally hears, _Don’t worry, Stevie. We’re on our way too._

 

\---

 

That evening, there’s more than sorrow in the camp, there’s confusion and paranoia. If Jarvis wasn’t human, any one of them could be an android too. Steve stays away from that thought as much as possible; these are his friends. He loves these people. Once upon a time, he also liked Jarvis.

If _Bucky_ turned out to be an android, he couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t do that to him. It wouldn’t change anything. Steve strokes his hair away from his forehead, both of them lying in a hammock near the main hut. He remembers him from before. Before all this stress and fear and sadness. There was him, and they were happy. He can’t let go now that he has him again.

“Hey,” says Bucky, sitting up. “Stevie, don’t make that face.” He rubs his cheek with his knuckles. “Makes me all kinds of sad. I’m here, ok? I’m not leaving.”

 _I love you_ , thinks Steve, resting his head against Bucky’s.

Bucky tips his chin up, slotting their mouths together into the softest kiss. Steve’s spine tingles with it, his heart stuttering. Aching for this feeling to never go away.

 _I know_ , he says back. _I’m not leaving here without you._

Further away, Steve can see Natasha’s hammock. Bruce and Clint both curled in it with her. Tony is nearby with Happy and Thor, but he gets up every so often to curse. No one blames him for not sleeping (or not seeing what Jarvis truly was). It’s no one’s fault except whoever put them here. Whoever SHIELD is.

The sound of cards slapping near a dim fire catches Steve’s attention. He turns in Bucky’s arms, his back to his chest. From here, he can almost make out who is who, but he knows by how quick the sounds are that it’s Loki and Peter. Still not asleep. Or maybe Peter is just keeping Loki company; he seems most affected by Nick’s absence. He hardly ate, hasn’t slept in two days now, and speaks only to Thor and Peter from what Steve sees.

Sam is missing. Possibly asleep inside the hut or in the woods. No one seeks him out; he needs to be alone. Jarvis was a friend to all of them. Turns out, all he wanted was Intel on them. He was feeding their knowledge to his ‘makers.’ That’s enough to make anyone want to be alone.

 

\---

 

The morning is loud. Steve fell asleep with Bucky around him, their hips slotted and comfortable, their hands tangled. He wakes with a crick in his neck but not due to the position; someone shouts and startles him. He jumps up and pulls a muscle. Bucky spends a few moments smiling and rubbing his neck.

“Poor baby, can’t even sleep,” he says, grinning.

Steve sighs, smiling in spite of the ache. “Laugh it up. I’ll make sure to throw a bucket of water on you one day. We’ll see how smoothly you get up.” He takes Bucky’s hands, holding them. “Who’s arguing by the way?” he asks, lower.

Bucky glances around. “Loki and Bruce. I think we should go see what’s happening.”

They make their way to the middle of camp, the usual fire burning for breakfast, only relit for the rest of the meals when it goes out.

Loki swings his arms wildly, Peter trying to catch them before he hits Bruce. “How can we just give up, hmm? I may not seem like someone who takes orders because I don’t. But I understand proper leadership, and he was far better than you could ever be,” he spits like venom.

Peter whispers, “Loki, don’t say—”

“It’s the truth! If he were here right now, and one of us went missing, he would try for more than one day!” He points an accusing finger in Bruce’s face. “And you know that! You know how many times we searched for Phil, Maria, Jane! Betty had nearly a week and I am _certain_ you appreciated that, didn’t you?”

Thor groans, stepping forward. He touches Loki’s shoulder. “That is enough, Loki. Bruce is a fine man, capable of taking Nick’s duties. He can lead us out of the maze.”

“Maybe, but how many of us will go missing before we get out?” he seethes. He scowls at everyone gathered around, storming away into the forest. Only Peter goes after him.

Bruce clears his throat. “So I guess everyone heard: I am now in charge, as second-in-command.” He sits down near the fire; the Gladers all take a seat too. “I don’t think we can spend any more time looking for Nick. We need to focus on getting out. That is our main priority.” He glances around to check for interruptions, thoughts. “If anyone feels like Loki, I understand but I won’t change my mind. He was an amazing leader and he would understand. I knew him well. He wouldn’t want us to spend all our time mourning and searching for him. He’d want us to get out.”

Natasha speaks up, “Didn’t he say it wasn’t the time though? He said we should wait.”

“I think now that he’s gone, the one who knew the most, I think that means something,” explains Bruce. “I think they did this on purpose. They waited for him to enter the maze. They wanted to destroy our hope.”

It makes sense to Steve, to the others too – he can see them nodding – but he can feel for Loki as well. It’s hard to let go; some people never do. He might have never let go of Bucky if his memories weren’t wiped.

“Tony, I need you to focus on defensive weapons. Runners, I need you to train today and then get back out there tomorrow. Everyone else, I need things running as smoothly as possibly as soon as you feel up to it.” He stands, rubbing off his knees. “Meeting adjourned. Feel free to come see me for anything.”

 

\---

 

“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” mutters Steve, pushing through leaves in the forest where Loki ran off. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen him.

Bucky sighs, grabbing his arm. “You know he’s not, Stevie. I don’t think we should disturb him.”

“Well you’re free to go back to camp. I’m doing this,” he says, crossing his arms.

Throwing his arms in the air, Bucky growls. “Fine! See you for supper. Don’t tell me if he hits you for bothering him.”

 

\---

 

Bucky’s playing slap with Thor – who is obviously stronger than him; his size says it all – when they see a blur rush by them. Further away, they can hear a voice shouting, “Stop! Don’t go in. stop!” When the voice comes nearer, Bucky can tell it’s Tony. He stops near them, panting. “Loki took the Griever spear I was working on. He went into the maze. He wants to get revenge for Nick.”

Thor doesn’t even blink before he’s picking up an ax Bruce left nearby and going into the maze. Bucky searches around for a weapon of his own, and comes up short. He’s going to have to use his arm. If it’s good enough to play slap with Thor, it’s good enough to rip Grievers a new one.

Before he leaves, he tells Tony, “Make sure Steve and the others know where we are.”

“Sure thing,” and Tony rushes off into the forest.

 

\---

 

Tony is breathless, hands on his knees. He’s gesturing past him, somewhere beyond his shoulder. At the same time, Steve hears a whispered _Loki ran into the maze. Me and Thor ran after him_ coming from Bucky’s mind.

Steve blurts out, “They’re in the maze? There’s only a few hours of daylight left!”

Tony is nodding, still trying to catch his breath. He flails his arms in the direction of the maze.

“I should go. Peter, how did you lose him?” he snaps, taking longer strides.

Peter splutters, his eyes wide and afraid. “He – he said he was just going to get some water. I – _why_ would I follow him? What reason did I have to think he’d go alone? We have rules for Runners!”

“He’s not in his right mind! Tell the others,” he says, running as fast as his legs will carry him. Bucky’s there with Thor. All because Loki couldn’t let his emotions cool a bit. The worst thing to do is be rash in dangerous situations; he’s going to get all three of them killed.

 

\---

 

Sam follows Steve into the maze, both of them carrying a timer which reads two hours remaining. Fortunately, even under pressure, Sam remembers which sections are open today. He says, “Let’s check seven first. I think I heard footsteps.”

Steve hopes it’s footsteps and not something more violent, waiting to take their lives. They run through the maze, the walls large as ever, the vines seemingly slithering over the looming stone walls. As they move forward, there are sounds, voices even.

Steve doesn’t yell; he uses his bond with Bucky instead. It wouldn’t be wise to alert Grievers if he’s wrong and it isn’t them. Nothing can be trusted anymore. _Are you guys near? We’re in section seven._

“We’re here,” shouts Bucky, sounding pained.

Turning the corner, there’s a slab of stone closing in on Loki from above. It seems as though he was trying to pass through a crack he’d found, a passage that may have led him to Nick – may have even been where Nick went to escape the Grievers – but now it’s trying to crush him. Though Loki is long and lean, he’s a grown man; the shape of the space he’s trapped in is getting smaller as the seconds pass. He wheezes as the walls howl in protest. The only thing keeping it up is Bucky’s metal arm and Thor’s ax (as well as strength).

Steve rushes in, pushing up alongside Thor and Sam helps try to tug Loki out. His clothes get caught, so Sam takes out a knife and slices quickly through the fabric, the tearing unheard over to the loud whine of the stone wall trying to crush him into dust. There are only moments left to get Loki out, his knees already crammed together in a painful fold, his arms hanging out trying to drag his body free.

With a shout taking all the air from his lungs, Bucky’s metal arm whirrs and he pushes the wall a few inches up so Loki can be tugged out by Steve and Sam. Thor’s hands slip, though, just as Loki is out and Bucky’s arm is smashed up to his bicep. Wires and electricity fly wildly, but all Steve sees is the naked pain on Bucky’s face, his eyes watering from it.

“Breathe, Buck, I’m gonna get you out.” He tries to lift the stone back up but it refuses to budge. “Help me!” he screams at the other men, his hands sliding against the pieces of metal. “There’s no time left.”

Sam takes out the knife again, swallowing. “You need to distract him. This is gonna hurt.” He cuts as close as he can to the wall, but ends up having to slice the part connected to Bucky’s shoulder – his human body, where all the pain receptors are.

Bucky bellows and cries out, squeezing Steve’s hand as hard as he can while he’s essentially being amputated for a second time. If Steve could give him his arm and know Bucky would accept it, he would. In a heartbeat. He digs his nails hard into Steve’s hand, drawing blood but it’s nothing compared to the pain he’s experiencing. Bucky’s mind is a cacophony of _ow make it stop make it stop go faster Steve help help it hurts Steve I can’t breathe is it over tell them to just rip it off I can’t take anymore_

Steve breathes out, on the verge of tears, “Rip it off. It’s taking too long. He told me.”

Thor’s mouth opens;Sam’s eyes widen. “Steve, we can’t just—” begins Sam.

“Do it!” cries Bucky. “Do it now!”

Steve kisses Bucky’s forehead, still holding his hand. Thor grabs hold of Bucky’s shoulder, tearing him from his arm trapped in the closed wall. He passes out, the blood draining from his face. Loki limps slightly as Sam leads the way out, both Thor and Steve carrying Bucky as best they can.

 

\---

 

They nearly stayed in the maze. It’s only an afterthought; Bucky is bleeding out now, the flesh that had been healed and connected roughly to metal all open anew. Tony stands at the entrance, Natasha and Clint next to him. Bruce comes running from inside the main hut, carrying supplies – as if he knew something bad might happen. Maybe he just prepared for the worst.

Bruce clearly wasn’t prepared for this. His eyes widen and he rushes back to the hut, calling Happy to help him find more bandages. Tony stutters out, “I – I don’t know what to do with this. I’m not a doctor. I’m a scientist. I can’t, I’m not made to –”

“Calm down,” says Sam. He walks him a few steps away, talking him through a breathing technique. Once he’s done, Sam asks, “Is your workbench cleared off?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m _not_ a doctor.”

“None of us are,” says Sam, smiling ruefully. “We have to help him though. We can’t just let him die.”

Tony nods, exhaling loudly. “Follow me.”

Steve picks up Bucky bridal style, and Thor helps Loki sit near the campfire, his leg still slightly injured. Bruce rushes back carrying a pile of bandages; Happy behind him carrying just as many. The workbench is too short for a full grown man, so Bucky’s legs dangle off. Luckily, it’s wide enough for his arms. Sam whispers to Bruce, pointing at Bucky and Tony. Bruce murmurs back, his dark eyes sad, his brow furrowed.

“Unless we can somehow repair Bucky’s arm, he’s not going to make it,” says Bruce. “I may not have mentioned it, but I did train as a doctor originally. And he’s wired to be partially mechanical. That’s Tony’s specialty.”

“I – I have to make him a new arm?” Tony croaks. Steve has never seen him less sure of himself; his usual cocky façade all but a memory now. “I don’t even have the right supplies for any of that. And I’d need more Griever parts. Also, how am I keeping him from bleeding out? The wall just closed. It’s not going to open for at least eight hours.” Tony covers his eyes, sighing.

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll deal with the human physiology. You work on the technological aspect. You have all night to figure out how to make it work. Can you do it? We don’t need any more losses.”

Tony breathes out, looking up at the sky. He clears his throat. “Yeah, okay. I’ll think of something.”

“Good, thanks.” Bruce touches Tony’s shoulder, then turns to Steve. “I need you to watch over him tonight. I’ll be working on him on and off, but in case I miss anything I need a second pair of eyes. Happy’s going to be available too.”

“Anything I can do to help,” says Happy, forcing a smile. His face looks pale, his visible nerves making Steve feel sick with worry.

“I’m not leaving his side,” says Steve. “Not for anything.”

“Perfect. Hold his hand. Make sure his pulse stays steady,” says Bruce. “I’ll begin disinfecting and wrapping up the limb now.”

 

\---

 

Hours and hours of Steve standing. His knees wobble, and his legs ache. Even though he can run for hours, just standing still takes more of a toll on him. Maybe it’s that combined with stress of not knowing whether Bucky will even make it to morning. His eyes move behind his eyelids once in a while, whimpers following. Sometimes he squeezes Steve’s hand, which keeps Steve from collapsing. Bruce appears, asks Steve about his pulse, checks the bandages, rewraps or changes them if too much blood has gone through, then disappears. Steve doesn’t know where he goes –could be helping Tony think of a design for the next arm – but it’s not important. Bucky is the priority. Happy offers a couple times to take over, but Steve can’t risk it. If something happens and he’s not there to… he’s not there…

Bucky’s not allowed to die. He can’t leave Steve alone. He can’t. It’s not an option; it’s not human. In all of this horrible, there’s only one good thing that keeps Steve moving forward and it’s him. There’d be no reason for him to keep going. He’s all that matters –

There’s someone touching his face, fingers curling through his hair. Steve almost doesn’t want to open his eyes. It feels too gentle – like someone not willing to wake him and tell him the bad news. Then he hears a raspy, “Stevie, my fingers are going numb.”

“Bucky,” he murmurs, touching his face instead. “Don’t do that to me. Don’t scare me like that again.”

From the slow blink of Bucky’s eyes, the crooked smile, Steve can tell he’s still under the effects of the painkillers – whatever Bruce could find. They haven’t received much in a while. He touches Steve as if _he’s_ the one who almost didn’t make it, and it’s just so ridiculous that tears fall from his blue eyes.

“Stevie, don’t cry. I’m all right. I’m not bleeding anymore.” He pulls Steve in for a soft press of lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony clears his throat, standing behind Steve. “I hate to interrupt this touching conversation, but I need you to go into the maze. It opens in about fifteen minutes. I need you to try and find a Griever or as many pieces as you can collect.” He hands Steve a paper with the design for the new arm. “If you can get me any of the parts I need for that, your boyfriend will be better than new.”

“Oh, yeah?” asks Bucky, grinning. The painkillers must be really strong for him to be happy after what happened to him. “Will I be able to beat Thor at Slap?”

“Definitely,” says Tony, grinning back. Softly, he tells Steve, “Bring the others with you just to be safe. We don’t need anyone else getting hurt.” He swallows, looking down to add, “Be careful out there.”

Steve’s lips part, a warmth climbing his neck. Tony’s never seemed to care about him. Now he knows he does and it’s…it’s nice. It’s comforting.

 

\---

 

Before Steve’s about to leave - Peter, Loki and Clint right behind him – Bucky begins to cry out in pain again. The warm feelings from earlier dissipate, replaced with worry. Fear. Anxiety. What if he can’t find what he needs? They may not get any more painkillers. Tony might not be able to fix him –

“Ready?” asks Peter, patting Steve’s arm. “The door’s going up in 29 seconds.”

“28, 27, 26…” counts down Clint, staring at his watch.

The entrance isn’t even fully up, and Steve tucks and rolls underneath it so he can get in faster. Maybe he can take a Griever by surprise and rip its mechanical heart out, sparing only its skeleton.

 


	12. The Twins

Bucky smells like antiseptic for a couple days, but Steve kisses him anyway. He almost lost him. For good this time. Not like the man in his memories who fell, and returned to him missing an arm. They spend a couple days hiding out in the forest together. Steve refuses to leave his side; the Gladers allow him the break.

They carefully climb a tree together, the largest they can find, and cuddle in it for hours. Bucky eventually shifts against Steve, seeking out his mouth. He whimpers when his arm moves a certain way – the skin not completely healed yet. Their tools are rudimentary at best, but at least he’s not bleeding anymore.

Steve carefully holds his arm, the metal heavier than the last one he had. He supports the extra weight on his thigh, leaning in to kiss Bucky slow and sensual. The day turns into night, their lips buzzing with pleasure and swollen from kisses.

“I never thought I’d be into guys,” says Bucky. “But I guess you’re different.”

Steve presses a kiss to the crook of Bucky’s neck, laughing. “Well, I’ve always liked both, but I just never thought you’d want to be with me back.”

“What’s not to love?” whispers Bucky, using his right arm to wrap around Steve’s wide shoulders. “I just – the war, what I remember, didn’t go well. And now this. It’s like an endless fight.”

“I know, Buck,” whispers Steve. He tucks Bucky’s head under his chin, massaging his scalp. Bucky moans, seeking out his mouth again. Steve touches his cheek, drinking in the lust in his eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want—”

“I want to!” he cuts in. “I mean, I really do. I don’t want to waste any time.” He breathes out a sigh. _I don’t remember how to have sex. It’s been so long._

 _Don’t worry. We can just do what feels right._ Steve smiles, combing his fingers through Bucky’s dark hair. _We can just touch for now._ Their fingers tangle, their thighs shifting closer, overlapping, hips resting closer.

 _I don’t want to regret anything._ Bucky moves in, his erection pressing against Steve’s thigh. “Don’t make me say it out loud. You know what I want,” he grumbles, looking off to the side with a pout.

“If you’re going to pout like that, I may need to bug you more,” laughs Steve, nudging his chin. “I know what you want. I can take care of you. But let’s wait until you feel better. Let’s go slow for now.” He sweeps his thumb across Bucky’s lips, pressing slightly to make them part. “Okay?”

*****

The morning is loud with excitement and energy. The Gladers have awoken from their dour coma it seems. Bruce taps Steve gently on the kneecap, leaning at eye-level. “A new person should be arriving today, as well as supplies we can use to help Bucky heal faster.”

Steve hadn’t thought of that second part. He shakes Bucky lightly, kissing his forehead. “Wake up. You want to meet the new person? It might be a hot woman.”

Bucky mumbles out, “Don’t need one. I have you. Your boobs are bigger than any lady’s.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Steve rolls his eyes, extracting himself from Bucky’s hold carefully.

Bucky grins, stretching slowly to avoid pain. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

 

\---

The twins are a surprise to Steve. Twins, in general, would be a surprise. Perhaps whoever put them here thought it was too cruel to separate them. Then again, sending anyone to live in a maze guarded by mechanical monsters is cruel for no reason.

The woman has long dark hair, while her brother has hair so light it may be silver. They have the same wary expression on their matched faces, same eye colour, and same height and body proportions. Neither of them speak as they exit the Box together; they don’t make eye contact with anyone, shuffling around as a pair; they even go so far as to ignore Bruce when he tries to explain the Glade to them. They speak to no one for the entire first day, but Steve knows with the looks they cast at each other that they have the same telepathic gift he and Bucky have. More so because they’re of the same blood, same womb.

At night, they sleep near the bonfire meant to celebrate their arrival, cuddling like infants. Their limbs are tangled, their hands cradled with fingers twined. It might be for warmth, but Natasha sneaks over as they’re softly snoring, and drops a blanket over them that Peter made from sheep’s wool (the only one they ever received).

It’s no surprise that she doesn’t wake the twins. She and Clint can walk as if floating, while Peter can disappear and reappear anywhere without a sound. Steve envies them – until he remembers how often Bucky startles him. It’s almost a daily occurrence that he’ll be chatting with someone else, perhaps helping to chop wood, and an unexpected voice will say in his ear, “Hey, Stevie.”

 

\---

 

The next morning, it’s time to take inventory of what arrived with the twins. Steve notices there’s a lot more food in the crates than usual considering there’s only two more additions to the group. Not as much clothing, though. Barely any water; they’ll have to try and purify from the natural source in the forest. An abundance of medication, especially pain suppressants.

Bruce turns to the Gladers, face solemn. “I suspect something will happen soon. There’s no reason for us to have this many supplies.” He tells each of them to use what they need, and to keep for later what they have in excess. “We don’t know what the change will be. Prepare for anything.”

As second-in-command, no one doubts his judgment. He would know if anything is out of the ordinary; he’s been in the maze a very long time. Natasha whispers something to him that makes him look around, trying to catch Tony’s eye. They leave the group and speak on their own.

“Did you see that, Buck?” whispers Steve. “I think something bad is gonna happen.”

 _You mean besides what’s already happened_ , thinks Bucky with a raised brow.

Bucky leads Steve toward their private space by the elbow, sighing. They stop by a tree, next to the hammock where they sleep. The leaves shroud them somewhat. “We knew that a while ago. It’s only been getting worse the more people arrive.”

“You think we should be preparing to leave?” asks Steve, rubbing his forehead. This isn’t what he wants. There will be casualties then; people he cares about will die and he doesn’t know if he can face that. If he had to choose between more death and being stuck here forever, well…

Looking up very slowly, Bucky’s eyes dark and piercing, he says, “Don’t you?”

 

\---

 

The maze feels ominous with Bruce’s announcement; a darkening place that can’t be solved by structured exploration by the Runners. They’ve lost hope in ever unravelling it. Clint sits down with Sam and Steve in the Glade, sighing under the hot morning sun.

“I think we need help,” Clint tells them, rubbing sweat from his brow. “We must be missing something.”

Sam stands, pacing around back and forth. “Maybe we just need a break. We’ve been running for who knows how long, never taking a step back from it.”

Steve tilts his head in agreement. Clint shrugs.

“So it’s agreed. We help the others, maybe ask them for some ideas. See what we can do with them.”

“Sounds good to me,” says Sam.

“Yeah, that works.” Steve smiles, out of politeness.

 

 

\---

 

The chores continue: wood chopping, hut building, mushroom collecting, but with more hands now. It’s done in a couple hours, so they have time to relax and discuss over lunch. They sit around a small campfire, roasting the safe mushrooms. The twins sit slightly further away, using a smaller fire for themselves.

There’s a basket filled with mushrooms Loki and Natasha picked; he picks out the poisonous ones and throws them in the fire to destroy them. Some of the Gladers look at him, raising a brow. “I’ve collected months-worth of them. There’s no use leaving them lying around so someone can eat one accidentally,” Loki explains.

Bucky roasts two at a time, handing one to Steve when they’re done. He’s too focused on that to notice Thor, across from them, who pops a mushroom with the tell-tale purple mark on it. Steve shouts, “No, Thor! Don’t eat that one!”

Loki is closest to him: he grabs his jaw, squeezing so his mouth stays open. He drags his fingers down his tongue, pulling out the chewed pieces, digging for any others in his tongue or on his palate. Then he slides his fingers further to gag Thor; making him throw up what he might have swallowed. There’s only liquid and the previous mushrooms that come up, nothing poisonous according to Loki’s sigh of relief. He pats Thor on the back, looking up at the blue sky. “Thank the heavens,” he mutters.

Clint coughs. Peter makes an ‘ick’ sound, and stops eating. “I lost my appetite,” he says.

The others nod or hum, agreeing. Bucky glances at Clint, both of them shrugging and continuing their meal. Steve is hungry, but not enough to eat more mushrooms. It’s only meant to be a snack anyway until Happy finishes whatever the main course is.

Steve glances over at Thor who smiles sweetly, taking Loki’s damp fingers and wiping them on his own shirt. “I’m sorry,” he tells him quietly. Steve reads his lips.

Loki kisses his forehead, his eyes tearing up. “Don’t ever be so reckless again. At least let me teach you next time.”

Bucky pretends not to see, Steve can tell by his grin when he looks over at him. “Are you jealous?” he asks Steve. “Want me to shove some fingers down your throat?”

“No thanks,” snorts Steve, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s save that for bedtime.”

The woman, one of the twins, interrupts their laughter, standing next to Bruce. “I understand you’re the leader. I found this tattoo on my brother’s back. Maybe you can tell me what it means.”

“Thanks,” he tells her. Bruce carefully pushes up the man’s shirt. The skin is still red, flecks of dry blood around the tattoo. He takes his glasses from his shirt pocket, reading the message aloud:

 

_Only one more left_

The calm that was surrounding their meal disappears just as quickly. Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, looking over at Natasha who bows her head. Peter’s legs begin to fidget, his fingers going to his mouth. Tony stands immediately, going back to his workstation. The woman looks to Bruce for answers; she and her brother have only just arrived a day ago and now this. It’s so much to put on their shoulders.

Bruce clears his throat. “It means there’s only one more person who will be joining our group. Beyond that, I don’t want to guess. It’s not worth panicking over.” The _yet_ lingers in the air between one breath and the next.

But Steve can tell it is from everyone’s reactions. Sam and Clint nod at him to come join them; he doesn’t want to leave Bucky. If there’s only one month left of this relative peace, he needs to spend it with him. If he loses him, if the last arrival is actual meant to destroy them –

 

\---

 

Bruce was right about a shift in the maze; Grievers are heard growling long before nightfall – at least two at a time, stalking through a section each from the sound of them. They aren’t allowed to go in. The Runners must be patient and speak with Bruce about a safe solution. Hours are spent trying to decide the pros and cons of going in with extra danger; Natasha thinks that it’s necessary risk – if they ever plan to leave.

Without permission, the female twin goes into the maze. No one knows until she’s spotted returning with a Griever corpse that she drags behind her. Her brother joins her, both of them dismantling it methodically. Bruce runs over from Tony’s workbench – where he had been asking about weapons for the Runners – and Steve and Bucky approach, too. They are cautious; not sure how she managed that alone.

“Where did you get that?” asks Bruce, his voice rough from stress.

“Inside the maze,” she says simply. She glances at her brother, raising a brow. He shrugs at her. “We don’t like it here, and want to leave as soon as possible.”

Bruce steps closer. “Now, wait—”

Her brother steps in front of Bruce; Steve doesn’t like his imposing stance meant to intimidate their new leader. Bruce doesn’t deserve whatever threat that’s coming; he’s just trying to keep everyone safe. Steve nearly goes in until Bucky catches his arm.

“Wait,” whispers Bucky.

Bruce doesn’t back off from the man’s aggressive stare. He doesn’t blink; just folds his arms as patiently as a saint. The man sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Wanda,” he tells his sister, “we can’t go into the maze unannounced anymore.”

“Why not?” she asks distractedly pulling off one of the eight spider limbs. “I think I’m doing quite well without their help.” She removes organic entrails from inside the Griever’s stomach. “Yuck,” she groans, “why did they even _try_ to pretend this was an animal?”

The man sighs at her, touching Bruce’s shoulder. “I will speak with my sister. As long as you ensure that we can get out soon.”

“I’ll do all I can,” says Bruce. “Thank you…”

“Pietro,” says the man. He smiles politely. “What tasks need to be done?”

Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder, whispering, “See? You don’t always need to jump in. Bruce is a tough guy.”

 


	13. Final Arrival

Since they received the clue of only one more arrival, they estimate a month is left to find an exit. It should be more than enough time to find an exit. No one knows if this last person – if it’s even human – will be good or bad, but they have to prepare for both outcomes.

Every evening since the twins have offered their help there have been conversations among the Gladers. Unlike under Nick’s command, Bruce wants them to meet constantly to brainstorm, to try out ideas that haven’t been vocalized. Slowly, at the same time, the Runners train the non-Runners for when the time comes to escape. Who knows what’s waiting for them outside of the maze walls. Maybe worse dangers, vaster grounds, harsh weather – not controlled by a team of corporate assholes.

Pietro and Wanda participate, but they do _not_ part from each other – similar to the way Steve and Bucky have been since reuniting. When they do, they go on different paths, having made friends with different Gladers. Wanda enjoys Natasha’s company, as well as Thor’s. Pietro stands by Tony’s workbench with a smirk, then leaves to speak with Loki or Peter in the woods. They clearly respect Bruce, but don’t engage with him other than in meetings.

They’ve barely spoken to Steve. Mostly because he scowls at them if they ever look warily at Bucky’s replacement arm. It may be from a Griever, but the rest of him is human; Steve’s seen and felt those parts. He _knows_ them like he knows his heartbeat.

One day, as they stare at Bucky with disdain – his back turned to them, unaware of the nasty look – Steve snaps. It’s one thing to do it to his face where he can defend himself, it’s another to do it when Bucky’s busy, minding his own business.

“Why do you keep looking at him like that?” Steve asks loudly, charging toward them. The camp goes quiet; he becomes the centre of attention. Bucky also turns, curious what’s happening. Steve doesn’t raise his voice often, if ever.

Pietro laughs, eyeing his sister with a nod. She scoffs, saying, “His arm is loose. It must cause him a lot of pain. However, he never complains about the poor work done on his limb.”

“What do you mean _loose_? Tony made it. I watched Bruce fit it—”

She shakes her head, coming closer. “You are missing some parts for the weight to be alleviated. It’s understandable given our environment, but it isn’t a permanent solution.” Her voice is much lower when she finishes.

Steve frowns at her, his posture nervous, not defensive anymore.

“Ask him,” she says, “I’m only relaying what I deduce from his current position.”

Steve glances at Bucky who has turned back to his work. His shoulders are hunched, stiff. His arms are in front of him, busy making the clothing for the next Glader. He stops, often stretching, a muscle jutting out near his neck. He’s fighting it, hiding the pain.

With a sigh, Steve ducks his head. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Pietro nods as Steve wanders off to Bucky’s side; he rubs his left shoulder, careful not to touch the sensitive scars. It’s all he can do to ease the pain – until Bucky asks for help explicitly. Bucky’s pride is the reason he’s kept quiet. Steve can understand: why complain about chronic pain when he nearly lost his life?

 

\---

 

The twins know a lot about reading people, mostly because they’re like Bucky: quiet, and keep to themselves. Natasha is of the same vein, except she doesn’t reveal information she’s gained; it’s a secret inside her vault, preciously hoarded and locked away like treasure.

In the evening, Steve attaches a hammock in the forest, a net set up just above and around it to keep mosquitoes from causing infection for Bucky. They lie together, swinging gently. Bucky sleeps on his right side; Steve sleeps behind him to keep an eye on the replacement metal.

Hours of silence pass. Then, Wanda climbs down from above - having been in the same tree - using the branches to slow her descent. She nods at Steve, hovering close. “May I?” she asks.

“He’s asleep. You’ll have to—”

“I meant you,” she cuts in. “He, I know, wouldn’t mind. You’re fiercely protective of him.” She touches Steve’s face. “I get it, though. You’re the way Pietro is with me.”

Steve swallows, gesturing for her to go ahead.

She spends a few minutes just staring at the scar tissue, the metal woven onto the skin. Pressed like a tattoo rather than fully connected. Her fingers brush the skin, a barely-there touch, and Bucky whimpers, “Stevie, stop.”

She steps down, feet touching dirt and grass. “I think the skeleton I collected would help this hurt less.”

Steve wants to ask how she knows; who she was in her past life. But mainly, if he can trust her with something as dear to him as Bucky. But she’s gone already, her shadow moving through the trees towards camp and supplies.

 

\---

 

Tony works alongside Bruce, Peter at their side for extra assistance. Wanda paces, watching the procedure. Steve bites his nails down to nothing, then continues on his dry skin. Gradually, the arm is smoothed out, fitted more properly. Bucky sleeps through most of it thanks to the extra goodies from the Box (and the lack of injuries aside from his own)

When he finally awakens, Steve clutches his left hand. “How does it feel?” he asks.

“Better,” mumbles Bucky. His eyes remain closed, his lashes dark and fanning his face. “I feel less like the tin man.” He goes slowly back to sleep.

 

*

 

A week later, two weeks before it’s even due, the Box travels up the elevator shaft. Steve’s first instinct is to hide Bucky, not that he needs protecting. Bucky’s still adapting to the new limb, though. His metal arm tightens without his consent; nerve endings tingle and he squeezes too tight. He crushes things if he isn’t careful how much strength he puts behind it. The whirrs wake him up in the middle of the night, constantly active. It’s a mess. But it’s lighter. It’s more real; Bucky’s in less pain.

Together, they leave the shelter of their hammock and go to the Box. The other Gladers meander along, too. Bruce is already there waiting to greet them, unarmed – the opposite of what he said he would do. Tony isn’t so trusting, holding a Griever weapon behind his back.

The elevator screeches to a stop and flies open. Sunlight pours inside.One final woman sits inside of it; her hair is redder than Natasha’s. She seems fragile at first, a deer caught in the headlights look on her face as she whines and backs away from their hands. But when too many Gladers crowd around, trying to pull her from the Box, her skin turns translucent, then fire-red, hot to the touch. They all take a step back – except Natasha.

Natasha’s breathing is steady. She crouches close, reaching a hand out to the woman, careful, slow. “My name’s Natasha. Do you remember yours?”

The woman’s panting calms a bit, her eyes less bulging and feral. She blinks, swallowing with a dry click. They all know how stifling it gets in that Box. She touches Natasha’s hand, shaking it awkwardly, as if relearning human customs. “I think–” She glances down at her wrist, the one holding Natasha’s hand. “I think my name is Pepper.” From where Steve is standing, he can just make out the tattoo:

P E P P E R

 

Natasha smiles, still holding her hand. “Well, ok, Pepper. You wanna come with me? I can share my bunk with you. It’s not much, but…”

Steve can’t hear the rest because Pepper is drifting off next to Natasha with not much on but a tube top and ripped shorts; no wonder she was so defensive about a camp full of mostly men. Next to Natasha, Pepper seems inhuman; she’s lean and tall like someone to be worshipped. Someone with a gift to share. It would explain why her skin glowed red earlier, flustered by them. Telepathy may not be the only power within the Glade anymore.

 

\---

 

The Box contains five chickens, two pigs, medical supplies, and light, metal armour. Bucky almost doesn’t want to report the inventory, knowing how it looks. It’ll cause worry and panic – making Pepper even more distressed. He goes to Bruce with the information; Happy helps him carry the supplies that aren’t animals.

They drop it on a wood table. Bruce sighs, leaning his palms flat. “This is bad,” he mutters.

“I know!” says Happy. He rolls his shoulder, cracking his neck. “We gotta get outta here.”

“I agree,” says Bucky with his arms crossed. “I haven’t even said the worst part yet.”

Bruce groans. “What is it?”

“The elevator isn’t going down anymore. Pepper really _is_ our last one.”

Happy throws his hands up, cursing. “I’m going to pack.”

Bucky sighs, leaning close to Bruce. “What do I tell the others?”

“Nothing yet. We need to get Pepper settled in a bit first.” He touches Bucky’s right shoulder, rubbing. A faint smile touches his lips. “Can you do that?”

Bucky clears his throat; he’s been telling Steve the entire conversation through his mind. That’s one extra person who knows…Oh, well. Hopefully, he won’t tell the others. “Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

 

\---

 

 

Pepper doesn’t remember anything like the rest of them; Natasha takes her under her wing. And by association, so does Tony. She spends time at the workbench, shuffling away whenever Grievers growl too close to the open entrance for comfort. She’s friendly, though, just wary. No one blames her. The maze is hard to get used to on your own.

During the bonfire, Happy serves pork chops to everyone. They don’t need to save the meat for later; they’ll be leaving soon enough. Pepper strolls into the treeline after the meal, touching the bark and sighing at the clear, blue stream. There’s a reason Steve and Bucky moved their bed to the forest. It’s almost too magical to be associated with this horrid place. He follows her quietly, curious. The red glow of her skin could be useful for getting away from Grievers. A branch cracks under his boots, and she turns, crouching down.

“Sorry,” says Steve, holding his arms up. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Pepper clears her throat. “I’m fine.” She turns back to the stream. “This is beautiful.”

“I know,” sighs Steve. He might miss it when they leave. Maybe. If only for the memories with Bucky he’s made here.

She glances around; his hammock is already up and covered by net for later. Further away, Peter’s hammock is hooked too. She holds her arms in front of her, folded at an awkward angle, trying to encompass all of the forest. “Is this where you all sleep?”

“Only three of us,” admits Steve.

“I don’t see why the rest don’t come here,” she says. Her voice is dreamy, her eyes focused on the ripple atop the water.

Steve walks around some poisonous mushrooms. “It’s warmer near the camp. Do you have a place to sleep yet?”

“With Natasha and Tony,” she says, flushing. “I mean—not with—”

Steve laughs. “I got it, don’t worry. No one’s judging here anyway.” He smiles. “We do what we can to keep our sanity.”

Pepper smiles back, nodding. “Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” She pecks him on the cheek in passing.

“Goodnight, Pepper.” Steve touches where the skin is slightly damp, warmth filling his fingertips.

 

\---

 

Bucky and Steve rest all the next day, soaking in as much quality time as they can before everything goes to hell. Bucky insisted on it. In their hammock, they’re high enough to watch their friends below, but not disturb. They learn things, interesting things.

Loki is _fond_ of Pepper; she’s the only one he leads – by the elbow – into the woods to teach about mushrooms. There won’t be any need for that in a little while, but it doesn’t matter. It’s sweet. He whispers to her about the poisons found in the purple spots, his hands always skimming her skin. She smiles, comfortable, her eyes clear and attentive. They bend down, continuing to whisper.

Then, Pepper leans in, kissing Loki in the middle of his next explanation. Steve nearly gasps; Bucky stops him with a kiss of his own, sealing his mouth with a soft, wet kiss. When he pulls back, their eyes locked, darting from left to right, Steve forgets what he was just doing.

“Do that again,” he tells Bucky instead. Their bodies moulding together.

 

\---

 

Pepper likes everyone who is kind to her; she gets along with all of them. Clint teaches her about Grievers; Sam tells her about the maze sections; Tony creates a weapon for her; Thor shows her how to use it efficiently. Natasha creeps up on her, purposely startling the red to the surface of her veins so she can learn to hone it. Afterwards, they laugh and eat together, thanking Happy for his amazing meals. Bucky avoids her; Steve suspects he’s afraid she might melt his arm off – now that it’s finally tailored right how he needs it. Bruce builds her a wooden chair for when she wants to relax somewhere other than in trees or on damp grass. Too bad she won’t be able to bring it with her when they leave.

The campfire meals are livelier than they’ve been in a while, full of chatter and laughter. Vitality returning to the camp with Pepper’s arrival, in spite of the foreboding messages hanging over their heads. Even the twins join in, Pietro showing off his incredible speed that puts out the fire as he runs by it. Pepper is more than happy to use her power to relight it – which of course makes Bucky nervous again; he clutches onto Steve’s pant leg, squeaking quietly.

“Don’t worry, Buck. I’m pretty sure Grievers were made to withstand a lot.” He places his hand over Bucky’s.

“I’m not a Griever,” he hisses through his teeth. He smiles when Pepper glances his way.

“No, but you’re built from one.” Steve chuckles, pecking him on the cheek.

He sighs, slapping Steve’s thigh with whirring metal.

 

\---

 

Most of them want to avoid the sun during high noon; the forest is the best place to do that. Steve collects the wood Bruce chops while further away Pepper whispers to Bucky. They’re within earshot, but Steve doesn’t think he’s welcome to listen. She smiles in his direction after a while, raising her voice. Permission, then.

“I think I need to be checked. Who was it that helped with your arm?” she asks Bucky.

Bucky’s dipping his legs in the small pond, swishing water back and forth. His body glistens with water, his muscles relaxed and peaceful. “Bruce and Tony. But Bruce is the one for living tissue.” He frowns, tilting his head. “Are you not feeling well or something?”

Pepper shrugs, crouching to his level. “It’s little things. I wake up with migraines, seeing red behind my eyes. Sometimes I can feel a name, memories trying to come out.” Lower, she says, “It’s gotten worse, though. My whole body was almost on fire this morning. I burnt through the hammock Natasha gave me. Thankfully, she was already gone to do chores.”

Bucky hums, glancing at Steve. _I think she needs help, fast._

Pepper waits, rubbing her thighs. She looks over to where Bucky is. “Steve?” she asks.

He inclines his head to say he heard. “It might be a good idea to see Bruce. He could at least help regulate the temperature.”

Pepper smiles regretfully. “But not suppress it, right?”

“Don’t think so,” says Bucky, patting her shoulder.

 

\---

 

Pepper asks for a few people to keep her company during the examination – the same two who know about her worries, Steve and Bucky. Bruce provides as much privacy as he can, inviting her into the main cabin where all the important supplies are. The door closes once everyone’s inside.

When she sits on the small, wood desk, it begins. It’s standard as procedures go. Lift arm, legs, stretch, breathe in and out, check reflexes, blood pressure, body temperature, height, weight, etc. Bucky holds her hand throughout, both of them cradled when she whispers, “You have to draw blood?”

Bruce nods, rubbing alcohol on his hands to disinfect them again. Steve presses his back firmly to the door. Making sure no one comes in when she’s already feeling nervous. She squeezes Bucky’s metal hand when the needle pierces skin. He obviously can’t feel the leap in temperature, but Steve sees the colour tinged with red from her heat. Her stress rising.

She whines quietly as the needle fills, her blood lighter than Steve or Bucky’s would be; crimson instead of burgundy. Bruce removes the needle quickly, bandaging the puncture. “Just hold that on there for me. I’ll check the results.”

He goes to a small corner table with vials and a notepad – notes jotted down from his memories of his previous life as a doctor, no doubt. There aren’t any medical books available; his brain is good as it gets in this forced wilderness.

Bruce scribbles a few things. “Your pressure is low,” he says, “not too much, but still.”

She nods, her eyes downcast, waiting. Bucky murmurs something to calm her.

“As expected, your body temperature is elevated.” Bruce hums, curious. “I just didn’t think it would be twice as high as the norm.” He touches his chin. “It makes sense, though. I wouldn’t worry.” He looks up at her with a smile. “The blood analysis may take at least an hour since I don’t have much equipment. Tony might be able to speed up the process. Would you like to grant him permission to see your results?”

Pepper sighs, looking at Bucky.

“Don’t ask me. It’s your body,” he says, shaking his head.

With an exhale, she says, “Yes, I’d like to know soon. Please ask Tony –

Suddenly, her eyes turn red, her skin fiery again. Bucky takes a step away from the table. Steve presses against the door. Bruce moves farther as well. Everyone wary of what will happen next. When her mouth opens, Steve expects the worst: an explosion, fire, poison gas…

Instead, she tells them, as if possessed, “Tell them about Nick. Tell them he’s still alive. Tell them, Pepper. Tell them!” She sucks in a heaving breath, coughing roughly and holding her chest. She holds her head, eyes shifting back to blue as seconds tick by. “What – just happened?”

“I think it’s time for me to get Tony in here,” says Bruce, shoving past Steve and outside of the cabin.

Nick’s alive – but for how long? It’s time for them to go.

 

\---

 

Tony and Bruce stand a few feet away from Pepper. Bucky holds her hand, but keeps glancing up at her eyes to make sure another incident won’t happen. If Steve didn’t completely understand the trauma of having memories erased and then being thrown in a maze with a group of strangers, he’d be worried too. He’s not; Pepper is a victim like anyone else. She needs help, is all.

With a few vial mixes, some mumbling, and about thirty minutes of the two scientists shuffling around prodding each other for ideas and theories. They come up with a few answers.

Tony snaps his fingers, pointing to Pepper. “Pretty sure your blood, little lady, can cure Griever stings. If we can find a way to synthesize it, we won’t need to worry about scratches or bites. Mauling and dismemberment are another thing, though.”

“Tony,” scolds Bruce, tapping him. “Don’t say it like that. We’re leaving as a group. We’ll be more than enough against them.”

Pepper gapes, breathing shallowly. She narrows her eyes, confused. “My blood is what? Grievers? Dismemberment? _Dismemberment_!” She begins to pant.

“Whoa, whoa,” says Tony. “Calm down, sorry. No, not you. You’ll be fine.” He clears his throat.

Steve sighs up at the ceiling. “Why didn’t anyone think to tell her about Grievers properly?”

“Do I want to know what Grievers are?” she asks, voice high and strained.

“No,” all the men reply in unison.

Pepper swallows, tightening her hold on Bucky’s hand. She looks at him. “But I need to?”

She trusts Bucky. More than he trusts her – or even himself. With time, maybe they could become friends. It breaks Steve’s heart knowing there may not be time. This could be the end of their group in not much longer.

Bucky bites into his bottom lip, showing her two fingers held parallel but close together. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Tell me,” she says decidedly. “If I need to know, tell me. Please. Then you can have my blood for whatever you need.”

 

*

 

Steve leaves when he’s not needed anymore, Bucky following him like a shadow. They go to the camp together, wandering aimlessly – like the rest of the Gladers. Chores don’t matter when the end is imminent. Food doesn’t matter when there might not be any for days, weeks, months… There’s something Natasha once told Steve about Jane, the first to be stung.

Her memory didn’t work well, as usual, but once she was stung – the others unaware yet – she told Thor about people, and things, computers and bodies being thrown into a desert. Things no one had seen or could see from within the Glade. It gave her part of her memories back. But afterwards, when the Changing began, well…

Thor doesn’t speak of her, the pain a constant. Her spirit a revenant. Returning every time he sees the maze walls. It explains why he’s no longer a Runner. It explains why many of them have traded roles in the Glade.

Steve doesn’t want to be another bad memory of Grievers and death, so he waits until he’s certain Pepper’s blood will cure the sting before he finds a hint of poison to use on himself. There’s only one person, one man, always trailing him who catches him as he does it. Bucky rushes over, touching his face, his arm where the claw is dug in deep enough to trigger anything that might be of use. He means to write down everything that flashes behind his eyes, but the jolt he feels takes him over completely, his body just an open wound, burning and ripping away his controlled mind. He thinks, _this is it, I’m dying—_

 

 _There’s a lab, scientists in lab coats keep his hands bound behind his back with cuffs. He’s sat in front of a screen. Hours, months condensed into hours. Women, men, children all dying. One after the other – from hunger, cold and Grievers. Batch one, they’re called. Next to him, a dark haired man sits, his arms also bound. He fights against seeing it; Steve has lost hope of escaping. His mind shutting off, pushing the images away. Another batch begin: Nick, Bruce...They’re shown Phil dying, his corpse dragged away by SHIELD agents. Jane losing her sanity, her intelligence, trapped in the maze and snarling like a beast; her head devoured by a Griever. Her corpse taken away by more agents. Maria next, then Rumlow growling and foaming at the mouth. All of them poisoned and killed, then expelled like unworthy students. Test subjects. Test – subjects. SHIELD. Steve sees the lab coats force him into a machine, Bucky next to him. They touch the tips of their fingers – the only part they can reach – then everything is white, gone,_ clean _. All knowledge gone. Including the exit to the maze, the secret hatch found in section six – the same section Sam believes Nick went missing. He can tell him. He can tell them all; they can be free --_

 

Steve feels his body convulse, chemicals forcing his limbs to shake violently. His eyes are open, seeing nothing but faces staring down at him. Hands touch his face, his chest – checking his heart – then touch his wrist, his pulse. His breathing calms, his body stops moving. One blink and he’s back inside of himself, alive once more. Bucky’s eyes are wet, tears falling onto Steve’s bare chest. He tickles his face with his hair. Next to him, Thor and Bruce look down at Steve.

“I know how to escape,” he tells them. “Sam was right. Section six. I saw it.” In a few days, section six will open again, and it’ll be their chance to leave. Bucky covers Steve’s mouth with his fingers and leans over him, squeezing so tight he almost can’t breathe in.

“Shut up, Steve,” he cries into his shoulder. “If I can’t die, you can’t do that to me either. Don’t be so thoughtless with your body. We need you. _I_ need you more than anything.”


	14. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out, once and for all.

 

The sky is a very dark cloudy gray. The darkest it’s ever been during daytime – which points to the weather being controlled unnaturally by SHIELD. Everyone notices it, mesmerized by it. Chores aren’t being done; no one can concentrate while Grievers are waking up early, growling and snarling inside the maze. The Runners have always told Steve that the sun is what often kept the Grievers away; this proves it. Bruce and Bucky whisper at Tony’s workbench – the last of the tweaks being added to his arm. Loki lounges nearby, sheltered by the main hut with Thor’s arm around his shoulders. They only stare up at the sky. Happy, inside of the food cabin, leans out the window and stares as well.

Natasha says from behind Steve, “I think we should prepare for the worst. Something’s about to happen.” Steve nods, glancing around the Glade for Peter and the others. They must be in the wooded areas or still sleeping. The sky’s dark enough to confuse them about the time of day.

As if on cue, the maze doors slide open with a slow grating. Then another door adjacent to the first slides up, then another, and a fourth one follows. The doors are open on all four corners, and the growling is only getting louder.

“Gather as many people as you can, I’ll get the rest,” Steve tells her as calmly as his nerves will allow. “It’s time for us to leave. It won’t be safe in here for long.”

“I’m on it,” she says, rushing off towards one direction of the woods. Steve goes the opposite way.

 

\---

 

Within minutes, everyone is gathered and carrying supplies to leave the maze with – food, clothes, water and weaponry. Luckily, tony was done with the griever parts and scrounged up enough time to hand everyone something to use. Whoever needed it. Others were more than capable without. Speaking of which ---

“Are you okay, Buck? You haven’t said anything for days,” murmurs Steve as the Gladers march out through the main door. No one stayed behind. They’ve all been here long enough to know when a massive raid is about to hit.

Bucky shrugs. “I’m as fine as I’ll ever be. I just – have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” says Steve.

They look around at the others, walking quieter now, their weapons raised in case of an attack. Together, they move like wind, like a fog of victims taught only to survive. Even Thor who is usually bellowing and roaring out laughter, has a stern expression on his face, carrying a stone hammer at his side. Once the Grievers find them, this group won’t be the same.

Ahead, Sam whispers something to Clint – who passes the message along to the rest, trickling down to the people behind them. Natasha, who walks between Bruce and Tony, says quietly, “The wrong maze sections are open according to the Runners. Sam thinks it’s a trap to think we can get out without a problem. Keep your eyes open.”

It’s eerily quiet. There’s nothing but the sound of their boots as they cross tiles and dead vines, sometimes Griever corpses. Even if they seem like piles of junk, metal scraps, the Gladers remain cautious. They’re programmed to do whatever they’re told. SHIELD could command them with a switch to revive and attack; Steve steps around them, and Bucky follows.

They’re positioned at the back of the group to keep the group safe at all angles. With Natasha and Pepper in the middle and Thor and the twins near the front, the weaker members can be kept out of danger as much as possible. People like Happy who is a decent fighter, but not nearly strong enough to survive a Griever attack.

After tense minutes of walking in silence, walls and walls of the maze making them walk in zigzags, they find Sam’s hypothetical exit. The group exhales as a uniform entity, relief in everyone’s posture. The tension dwindles a bit, but Steve and the others turn their back to the exit just in case. Natasha glances from the hole near the SHIELD-marked tile to Bucky’s arm. She frowns, nudging Steve with her elbow. “Look,” she says, pointing. There’s a symbol on the tile that matches the one on Bucky’s shoulder, a tribal-esque eagle design made from blocked shapes. Tony just thought it would be a good replacement for the star he had originally.                                                   

Steve swallows; that can’t possibly be the solution. He watches Clint and Sam trying to press inside the hole for a secret spot or trigger, but nothing happens. Bruce and Tony bounce ideas back and forth, Thor beside them with his arms crossed, and frowning. Loki sighs, grabbing Bucky by the arm.

“Come here for a moment,” he tells him. Without hesitation, he forces Bucky’s arm inside the hole and it locks in place. Bucky can’t pull it back out. Steve’s heart stops for a brief moment. What if this is a trap? What if using Bucky - who has triggers of his own, a weaponized arm, and telepathy – is the exact action to destroy the entire maze? What if – worse – his arm gets stuck, and he has to be ripped apart again. Remade for a third time just because Loki couldn’t take more time to think –

A blue laser inside the hole flashes on, beeping steadily as it scans Bucky’s arm up and down. The light turns green, opening a circular door ahead of them. The panels of it shift away in a fan-like pattern, disappearing inside the round frame. Bucky slides his arm out, flexing the intricate metal pieces. He rubs it down with his flesh arm, sighing.

To Loki, he says, “Don’t ever do that without asking me again.” To the rest of them, he says, “Guess we can keep moving now.”

While everyone is rushing through in case Grievers show up, Tony and Bruce are still bickering. Thor tries to pry them away when Steve gestures for them to come along, but a loud noise startles them. A wall that had been hidden comes down, but Thor grabs it at the last moment, keeping it up enough for them to slide under it. Tony begins to, then notices the squeal of Grievers behind Thor’s shoulder. He slips back on that side, his weapon out to slice them apart. Bruce pulls out two swords of his own, Griever metal incorporated in each of them. Thor glances over his shoulder, and decides to let the wall go. It slams down hard with all 3 of them on the other side, splitting them off from the rest of the Gladers. The door secures itself in place.

Steve rushes over, scraping his fingernails against the bottom of the stone wall, scratching and tugging. Bucky joins in, as do Pietro and Wanda, but it doesn’t budge.

When Steve looks to the rest of the group for an idea, Natasha lets her head fall. “The others have gone down the tunnel. We can’t leave them there alone, Steve. They might need us. There could be an ambush waiting.” She turns her back, hopping down like the rest had, Peter right behind her.

Pietro leans toward Steve, touching his shoulder. “Thor would want us to continue. He let go for a reason.”

Steve nods, glancing back one last time at the wall. He can hear the Grievers’ high pitch cries as they attack and crash on the other side. The tunnel turns out to be an abyss of darkness. Something the Runners knew as “The Cliff.” No one ever dared to go into it because it looked like only death waited at the bottom; seems they were all wrong. The landing is a bit rough. Nothing but dirt and a couple boxes to cushion the fall – the same ones used to transport supplies into the Glade. Now Steve knows this is the right place.

Ahead of him, the others watch him, waiting for his command. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly in charge, but it’s a role he’s been comfortable with in the past. Bucky and the twins stand at his back, ushering him forward. They don’t have time to just stand around and wait; Steve can hear footsteps coming from down the dark, grey corridor of this facility. Each side has numbered doors, from one to fifty. One of them has to be the exit.

They begin pushing them open, everyone rushing about as quickly as they can. Meanwhile, the guards approach in a loud march, their uniforms labelled SHIELD in dark grey lettering. If they don’t get out, they’ll either be reset and thrown back in the maze or killed this time. Steve can’t let either happen.

While the a few of them continue to check doors, Steve charges at the guards, sweeping the first few off their feet with a slide-kick. Bucky punches through them before they can shoot Steve. Meanwhile, Pepper stands behind them, her eyes closed and fists clenched. She raises the temperature of her body until the blood bubbles at the surface of her skin. When her eyes turn molten red, she releases the energy and melts a row of soldiers by blowing fire from her fists and eyes. Natasha flips over Steve’s back, using Pepper’s attack to surprise the next wave of guards with a Griever knife Tony made her. She cuts throats, chests and wrists, twisting the necks of anyone she manages to miss. Loki runs at her side, dodging and ducking blows until he can puncture their chests with his spear. At one point, he disappears between their legs, ending up behind the guards, slicing and pushing through the rest to help find a door that can lead them out of this massive attack. Peter bounces against walls, slithering around the guards, breaking arms and legs to move past them. There are too many for them to keep fighting though.

Ahead, Sam has the same thought and throws open door after door, stopping at times to throw a few punches and wrestle guns away from the guards. When he accidentally shoots at a door handle, it creaks open and he notices light peering in from a window. They’ve found their exit. At the same time as he’s calling to the rest to follow him in, Loki shouts, “I think this way may lead outside,” and part of the group follows him.

The pressure-triggered explosion, just as it’s about to happen, drops Steve to his knees. He can feel it coming before the beeping starts – before the red lasers appear – and then it’s too late; Peter catches his eye and dashes to grab whoever he can and pull them away from Loki’s door, but he’s too late. Loki takes the brunt of the explosion, his face destroyed by the fire, blown back like paper, bringing at least five people smashing across the hall with him. The cement chips away and they tumble in a pile, some of them guards, some of them Gladers – all of them unmoving and covered in each other’s blood. Happy was among them, too.

Bucky drags Steve up from his knees, Peter helping pull him up. They run through Sam’s door while the guards are distracted, locking it behind them. What if this one is wrong as well? When Steve gathers himself, the room looks familiar. It’s the one where he and Bucky had to watch the Gladers die over and over. It’s the right place. Pepper melts the door handle so the guards can’t come after them right away and Steve takes a deep breath in. They’re okay – they can leave. He needs to be strong for them; he’s not the only one who has lost friends. With another breath, he straightens his back and pats both Bucky and Peter. “I’m fine. Take a rest while I look around.” Steve peers around the room at the rest of the survivors: Pepper, Natasha, Clint, Sam, Wanda and Pietro. And him. He survived too. He can’t forget that part.

The room is filled with cameras and computer screens. Scientists, doctors and computer engineers are strewn all over, dead. Each of them has a bullet in their skull, the blood still dripping down their white coats, their eyes open and glassy but not wide with shock. Mass suicide then. This was a planned event. They knew the Gladers were coming, wanted it perhaps. Despite this being the end result Steve hoped for, it doesn’t bring the satisfaction he wanted. These people worked for someone else, someone smarter with more power who convinced them this was the right thing to do. Now they may never know why they were in the maze. If there was even a reason they suddenly left them clues for how to escape.

The screens come back to life, a blue tint to them. From a back room, one Steve hadn’t found yet, Nick steps out. He claps loudly, some semblance of a smile on his face. “Congratulations on being the survivors of the maze.” He glances around at everyone who is now standing, preparing to fight if necessary. “You are the only ones who’ve survived the experiments enough to make it here. You’re the next level of humanity. The first Superhumans all gathered in one spot, perfect enough to lead us into the future of Earth.” He paces the room, his arms comfortably behind his back. “This may come as a shock, but most of the planet has died. The Flare hit and wiped out millions. You were all affected by The Flare, but not like the rest of humanity. It didn’t cause disease or paralysis. It made you faster, stronger. Able to adapt to anything else the galaxy wanted to throw at us.” He stops pacing, gesturing to himself then the Gladers. “You’re our salvation. We just wanted to be sure we were correct before using your genetics on other people who weren’t so lucky.”

 _I don’t believe him,_ thinks Bucky.

 _Neither do I,_ replies Steve. _Keep your eyes open. This might be him stalling._

Sam says, “So why did all these people kill themselves? I’d expect you’d need them to continue the research.”

“Sacrifices are made every day,” says Nick. “Besides, they were all going to die. They didn’t adapt to the Flare like you did. Like I did.”

 _That’s enough,_ Steve thinks. None of this sounds true, and Nick is a traitor; he deserves to die. Steve prepares to attack him, his fists balled up to tear through flesh and muscle, but Nick reveals the eye under the patch. A light comes out of it, temporarily blurring Steve’s vision.

“Not so fast there,” Nick says. It’s metallic and red at the centre. Might be self-destructing. Steve doesn’t want to risk the small few who are left. Nick snaps the patch back down with a nod. “My eye is the only key you have to leave this facility. I wouldn’t do anything rash if I were you.”

 _He’s bluffing,_ thinks Bucky. Steve honestly can’t tell. When he doesn’t respond, Bucky tells Nick, “How ‘bout I rip it from your socket and be done with you?” He flips the knife in his flesh hand, the Griever arm whirring softly as he clenches his fist.

“That sounds like a good plan, Buck,” says Natasha. She holds up two knives of her own, bending her knees to prepare for a leap. Nick actually looks shaken by their response. He hadn’t expected a confrontation. Maybe he didn’t expect so many survivors either.

Nick begins to step back slowly, his arms out, placating. “Easy there. I can still tell you about your lost memories. I can help you regain them. You need me to get out of here, remember? There are guards still outside this door. Many more waiting outside of the maze—” If Steve knows anything, he knows that Nick is capable of escaping if he gets even the slightest leeway. They need to stop him before he does so they can be out of this hell once and for all.

No one answers, but Steve steps forward, Bucky and Natasha stalking behind him. Wanda and Pietro quietly lift themselves off the ground where they had been kneeling, and Peter joins Steve’s group. Sam and Clint aren’t far behind, with Pepper charging the heat inside her body. Nick is still talking, threatening with explosions and torture now. He has no chance of leaving unscathed, none. He knows this; they know this. It’s just a matter of who --

Clint shoots an arrow just to the left of Nick’s patched eye so it falls out of the socket. “I don’t want to hear his bullshit, villain speech anymore. I just wanna be out of here.” He very nearly yawns, which makes Sam chuckle and smack him on the back.

“Good going, man,” Sam says.

Natasha shakes her head, punching him in the arm. “You promised I could kill the traitor.”

“I got bored,” says Clint. “Let’s get outta here. Right, Cap?”

Cap. Short for Captain. It sounds familiar, like a glove that’s worn at the fingertips. But he’s Steve now, a temporary leader since Nick turned out to be SHIELD. He has to hold on to what matters.

Clint is given the honour of sliding the eye – his kill, essentially – against a wall with a round slot in it. A blue laser scans the eye, beeps, and restarts all the systems that had been shut down beforehand. The large, main computer screen, hanging in the centre of the room, turns on and begins a pre-programmed playback. The recordings date back five years – longer than anyone in their group has been in the Glade.

The first group shown, children and young teens, died within a couple months of being sent to the Glade; each new person was brought in weekly. The video shows them fighting, getting stung, starving and dying from Griever attacks. The second group lasts longer because of a delay of two weeks between new arrivals and older members. But when they attempt to escape, the Grievers prove too much and massacre them.

“Oh my god,” whispers Pepper, covering her mouth. She turns away.

Next, there’s a video of Nick speaking to the scientists, camera operators and technicians:

_A longer delay will make them form stronger bonds. We need them to work together and survive as a team or it won’t work. I’ll go in as the first, and send someone else a few days after I’ve ‘settled’ a bit._

“You asshole,” shouts Bucky. “You made us all think you’d survive a month on your own.”

The video skips to Bruce arriving, his days as a Runner due to Nick’s influence. Then Phil is sent in, but Nick’s shown calling to have him killed later on when there are more people; less cause for suspicion. The same happens with Jane, Peggy, Maria, Phil, Betty and Rumlow – all betrayed by this man with an empty eye socket, collapsed and oozing blood on the floor.

Natasha looks as though she wants to kick him, just to get the excess anger out, but Sam calms her with a touch to her arm. “It’s okay, Nat. He did it to all of us.”

A loud _thunk_ makes them jump into attack mode, ready to fight for their lives again. To the far end of the room, a secret hatch has opened, labeled ‘Exit.’

Steve sighs. “Not that I trust that, but…”

“It’s our only chance,” agrees Wanda, nodding. “We should try. We have enough of us left.”

“Yeah,” says Clint. “Might as well. How much worse could it be?”

Natasha grumbles, “I wouldn’t say that. It’s like asking for trouble.”

Bucky cracks his knuckles, the metal arm whirring. “Only one way to know for sure. Right, Petey?” Peter grins, nodding.

“Wait!” shouts Thor, covered and caked in blood, his clothing torn, and two bodies thrown over his shoulder. “I have brought them. They are alive, barely, but still.”

“How- how did you even get through the guards in the hall?” asks Sam, mouth open.

Thor’s brows furrow. “I fought of course. You can check—”

“No, we believe you,” say the others.

“Things woulda been a lot easier if he hadn’t been separated from us,” Natasha tells Clint behind her hand.

Clint snorts. “Probably why these jerks did it.”

Thor glances around quickly at who is left. “Where are the others? Have they left already?”

This, unfortunate news, the team leaves to Steve evidently. They all look down, guilty and quiet. Steve steps closer to Thor. “I’m sorry. There was an explosion. Loki was leading a small group, and…”

“No!” he roars, “No, you are wrong. Loki would not fall so easily.” He looks around, eyes wild. “Where? Where is his body?”

“Thor…” says Pepper, her voice as soft as a touch.

“No! I must see. It is not possible. He would not—” Thor places Bruce and Tony down, against some computer cabinets, the desk keeping them upright. “Tell me where to find his body!”

Steve licks his lips, swallowing. “Down the hall. There should be at least four bodies piled from the explosion…Happy included.”

Thor’s resolve crumbles then as he falls to his knees in tears. He weeps, head in his hands, sounding more like a child than a grown man. Steve rubs his shoulders, his eyes damp as well – with sorry, with empathy. It’s finally sinking in for him, too. They’ve lost so dear friends. Bruce and Tony are all right for now, but won’t be for long if they don’t get medical help.

“I cannot leave,” murmurs Thor, rising off the ground. He wipes his eyes, looking at Steve. He glances at the others. “I cannot leave my family. I will try to help Bruce and Tony. I will mourn the rest.” He takes Steve’s hand in both of his, stroking it. “I wish you luck, my friend.”

Bucky strides over, saying, “Thor, you can’t stay here. There’s nothing here for you.”

“There is,” Thor says, smiling sadly. “My fallen friends are here without graves. My family are here. I cannot go knowing they still have a chance.”

Clint walks forward slowly. “I—” He breathes out a sigh. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.”

“We will surely meet again,” says Thor, gently. They hug longer than expected, longer than Steve’s ever seen them do; they barely had interaction to his eyes.

The twins both shake Thor’s hand, then hug him. Wanda tells him, “Take care, Thor.”

Thor pulls Peter into a tight hug, both of them twisting their hands in fabric. Peter doesn’t look back as he moves away, wiping his eyes. “Be safe,” he whispers.

After the parting goodbyes, everyone feeling sullen, broken up about their group splitting unexpectedly, the sound of boots starts. A slew of soldiers break through the ‘exit’ door, dragging out the closest of them first – Pepper, Sam, Natasha taken off guard.

Thor shouts, “No!” punching and flipping soldiers over when they grab at him, trying to pry him away from the two unconscious men. Steve fights too; Bucky jumps in to try and help Thor save them before they die. But this time, there’s too many of them. Too many AK47s pointed at their skulls, ready to fire if they don’t cooperate. As strong as they are, as quick as Peter is, a bullet at such close range would be too much to survive.

Bucky is forced out, then Steve who doesn’t let go of Thor’s hand, a silent apology for this turn of events. His choice taken away before he could even begin trying to help. They’re nearly outside, dragged like wild beasts by their shoulders, when Steve spots Loki in the doorway. At first, he can’t believe it; it doesn’t make sense. He was at the front of the explosion. But when he winks and disappears inside, carrying the Griever spear, Steve knows it must be him. Soldiers rush in after him, Thor shouting, “Loki, run!”

The sound of guns feels like livewire passing through Steve’s veins; a steady flow of bullets begins, not seeming to end. Steve refuses to look away from the door still ajar. Loki might survive, he might get back his freedom unlike them.

Steve’s body is dropped into a helicopter, along with the others. The doors are slammed shut, guards surrounding them with guns. Peter refuses to stop fidgeting until someone knocks him out with the butt of their gun. Steve memorizes his nametag for later; no one touches Peter, the youngest, like that. No one.

Suddenly, the propellers are too loud, drowning out the fighting below. A few feet in the air, Steve sees something he can’t explain. A large, green mass raging and tearing through concrete like it’s paper. It’s wearing ratty, handmade clothes – Bruce’s clothing. But it doesn’t look like Bruce. It’s like nothing Steve’s ever seen. Its cries are monstrous, reverberating the helicopter windows as it smashes and destroys the facility walls. It then goes back inside, carrying a body over its shoulder when it reappears.

“Isn’t that Tony?” murmurs Bucky.

“Indeed it is,” says Thor.

One of the soldiers in the helicopter says into his earpiece: “We need more firepower. Bruce’s monster has awoke. I repeat – monster has awoken. Send backup. Transfer to next facility if termination impossible.”

If it weren’t for how high they are, Steve would leap out of the helicopter. Not only that, but the others might not be able to follow. And where could they run to? There’s nothing but sand for miles all around – no water or shelter in sight. The last thing Steve sees as they fly away is a man rushing out of the rubble, following the monster that blocks the bullets from hitting Tony’s limp body. Although only the monster’s green skin is visible from here, he believes the man behind it is Loki.

Next to Steve, Thor begins to laugh. “I told you, friends. Loki would not be killed so easily.”

The flight is quiet; the maze a spot in the distance now. Nothing but desert to see, the sun beating down harsh and unrelenting, even through the windows. No one speaks, but they touch hands, bump shoulders, throwing glances at one another. Bucky frowns deeply, holding Steve’s fingers tight. Thor stares out the window, seeing nothing, though still looking in the direction of where they came. In case probably. Just in case. He hasn’t lost hope, and Steve admires that.

The twins murmur about the large, green monster – Bruce; Steve knows it was Bruce. But how did he manage to keep it secret for so long?

“Did anyone know…about Bruce?” asks Steve quietly.

Natasha clears her throat. “Nick did. He said something terrible happens to Bruce if he gets into tight situations. He just never explained.”

“Didn’t picture a giant, green rage-monster,” says Clint.

Sam laughs, incredulous. “It makes sense though. I wondered why he was always so calm.”

 _I had a feeling he was hiding something_ , thinks Bucky, rubbing Steve’s knuckles _. He said he understood not being in control of violence and anger._

Steve hums, rubbing Bucky’s hands back. _I’m sure he’ll give them hell for us._

_\---_

An hour later, perhaps two, another facility approaches. Walls and walls of dead ends visible from above. At least twice the size of the previous maze. Even here, the outside environment is hostile and dead, remnants of collapsed buildings and burnt forests left in sand. If they ran, where would they hide?

They land at the entrance, guns still pointed at their heads to make them exit. A man with dirty blond hair and a silver suit greets them, smiling. SHIELD is engraved into the facility’s wall behind him: Superhuman Hazard Infrastructure for Earth Liveliness & Defense.

With a large sigh, Clint mutters, “Here we go again.”

It would have been funny in another life, under different circumstances – without most of them injured, bleeding, angry and disappointed. Not to mention the bellow that startles them all, coming from inside the new maze. Steve finds it’s reminiscent of the sound Bruce made as a monster…The fury of their group somehow vocalized with a single cry from a mindless creature.

They’re pushed towards the unknown man like cattle once again, not even treated like the test subjects they are. They stand in a line in front of him. The man straightens up. “I’m Alexander Pierce, your new commander. I’ll be overseeing the process here.” He puts out a hand for Peter to shake, chuckling at his limp body.

Bucky smirks and spits into the offered palm. Pierce laughs, looking down at his soiled hand, watching the glistening of saliva there. He continues his laughter, observing all of the group, and then smacks Bucky across the face with that same hand. His laughter stops.

“You son of a bitch!” snarls Bucky, fighting to get at Pierce.

Steve wants him dead already. But he has to know something first, something that could help –

_Bruce, is that you? Tell me, please. We can help. We can get out together._

 

_GRAAAAAwWWRRRrrrr......................Ste.....ve_

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's enough demand for a sequel, I might consider it. :)


	15. Bonus Image: The Gladers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just another image that couldn't be put in without giving spoilers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments appreciated, if you have the time. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [From the Archives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253913) by [vassalady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady)




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